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OU have here, my good friends, sundry 
moral and entertaining stories, invented 
by the monks of old, and used by them 
for amusement, as well as for instruction; from 
which the most celebrated poets of our own and 
other lands have condescended to draw their plots. 
The improvements and refinements of this age 
will naturally lead you to condemn as absurdities 
many of the incidents with which these tales abound. 
Considering the knowledge of the present day, you are 
justified in so doing. But I pray you to bear in mind 
that few qualities are more dependent on time than pro- 
bability and improbability. When you read these tales 
you must, for the time, retrace your steps to the age 
in which they were written ; and though the tale may 
seem absurd to us of this day, yet if it was calculated 
to impress the minds of those for whom it was invented, 



TO MY FRIENDS. 



and to whom it was told, its merit was great, and there- 
fore deserving of due praise. A giant or a magician 
was as probable to the people of the middle ages as 
electricity to us. I pray you bear this in mind whilst 
you judge of these tales. 

Romantic fiction pleases all minds, both old and 
young; the reason is this, says an old Platonist ; " that 
here things are set down as they should be : but in the 
true history of the world, things are recorded indeed as 
they are, but it is but a testimony that they have not 
been as they should be. Wherefore, in the upshot of 
all, when we shall see that come to pass that so mightily 
pleases us in the reading the most ingenious plays and 
heroic poems, that long-afflicted Virtue at last comes to 
the crown, the mouth of all unbelievers must be stopped." 

To the work of the ingenious Mr. Swan, the only 
translator of these stories that I know of in this country, 
I am indebted for my first introduction to these old 
tales ; and I cannot conclude these few words without 
thanking him for having often lightened my labours by 
his close and admirable versions. 

G. B. 




CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

The Gesta Romanorum— Its Origin— Tale of the Ungrateful Man— Sources 
of Didactic Fiction— Jovinian the Proud Emperor— Morals of the Tales . 1 

CHAPTER II. 

Discussion on the Source of Fiction renewed — The King and the Glutton — 
Guido, the Perfect Servant — The Middle-age Allegories— Pliny and 
Mandeville's "Wonders allegorised 21 

CHAPTER III. 

Progress of Fiction from the East to the West — The Early Christians — The 
Monks — The Spanish Arabians — The Crusades — The Knight and the 
King of Hungary — The English Gesta 31 

CHAPTER IV. 

Modern Conversions of the Old Tales — The Three Black Crows — King Lear 
— The Emperor of Rome and his Three Daughters — The Merchant of 
Venice— The Three Caskets 39 

CHAPTER V. 

The probable Author of the Gesta — Modern Conversions — Parnell and Schiller — 
The Angel and the Hermit — The Poets' Improvements — Fulgentius 
and the Wicked Steward— Irving's Vision in the Museum— The Claims 
of the Old Writers on the New 50 

CHAPTER VI. 

Curiosities of the Gesta— The Wicked Priest— The Four Qualities of the Dog 
— The Emperor's Daughter — Curious Application — The Emperor Leo 
and the Three Images — An Enigma 61 

CHAPTER VII. 

Curiosities of the Gesta — Byrkes' Epitaph — The Lay of the Little Bird — 
The Burdens of this Life — Ancient Fairs — Winchester — Modern Conti- 
nental Fairs — Russia — Nischnei Novgorod 71 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



Southey's Thalaba — The Suggestions of the Evil One — Cotonolapes the 
Magician— The Garden of Aloaddin — The Old Man of the Mountain — The 
Assassins— Their Rise and Fall— Gay's Conjurer— Sir Guido the Crusader 
—Guy, Earl of Warwick 82 

CHAPTER IX. 

Illustrations of Early Manners — Sorcery— The Knight and the Necromancer 
— Waxen Figures — Degeneracy of Witches — The Clerk and the Image — 
Gerbert and Natural Magic— Elfin Chivalry— The Demon Knight of the 
Vandal Camp— Scott's Marmion— Assumption of Human Forms by Spirits— 
The Seductions of the Evil One — Religious Origin of Charges of Witch- 
craft 101 

CHAPTER X. 

The Three Maxims— The Monk's Errors in History— The Trials of Eus- 
tace— Sources of its Incidents— Colonel Gardiner— S. Hubert— Early English 
Romance of Sir Isumbras 118 

CHAPTER XI. 

Another Chat about Witches and Witchcraft— Late Period of the Existence of 
Belief in Witches— Queen Sesiiramis— Elfin Armourers — The Sword of the 
Scandinavian King — Mystical Meaning of Tales of Magic — Anglo-Saxon 
Enigmas — Celestinus and the Miller's Horse — The Emperor Conrad 
and the Count's Son — Legend of the " Giant with the Golden Hairs" . . 137 

CHAPTER XII. 

Love and Marriage— The Knight and the Three Questions— Racing for a 
Wife — Jonathan and the Three Talismans— Tale of the Dwarf and the 
Three Soldiers— Conclusion 158 




ancient agotai Cales* 



CHAPTER I. 



THE GESTA ROMANORUM ITS ORIGIN TALE OF 

THE UNGRATEFUL MAN SOURCES OF DIDACTIC 

FICTION THE TALE OF JOVINIAN THE PROUD 

EMPEROR THE MORALS OF THE TALES. 



T was a dull cold Christmas evening ; 
the snow fell fast and small, and 
the cutting north-east wind blew its 
white shower into heaps and ridges 
in every corner of St. John's quad- 
rangle, and piled its clear flakes against every pro- 
jecting part of the old building. No one was moving 
in college, at least out of doors ; but the rude laugh 
l^from the buttery, and the dull red gleam through the 
' ^a closely drawn curtains of one of the upper rooms in 
the outer quadrangle, proved that in two portions of 
the college Christmas was being kept with plenty and 
with gaiety. 

The change from the white cold of the quadrangle to the 
ruddy blaze of that upper room was inspiriting. The fire 
burnt bright ; the small table, drawn immediately in front of 
its merry blaze, glittered with after-dinner good cheer; and 
three young and happy faces sat by that little table, and com- . 
pared their former Christmases at home, with this one, during 
which they were determined to remain up in Oxford and read 
up for the ensuing examination. 



1 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" Morrison is always in good luck," said Henry Herbert, the 
youngest of the party. "Whatever it is, whether drawing lots for 
a Newnham party, or cramming for an examination, he always suc- 
ceeds ; and now he is the last man that got away from Oxford 
before the roads were blocked up by the snow-drift." 

" Fortunate fellow!" said Lathom. "We are shut up now — 
fifteen feet of snow at Dorchester, and Stokenchurch bottom quite 
impassable." 

" Ay, and Oxford streets equally so," said Frederick Thompson, 
the last of the triumvirate, " and we shut up here with the pleasant 
prospect of taking our constitutional, for some days to come, under 
the old Archbishop's cloisters." 

" By the by," said Herbert, "what were you after in the old 
library last week, Lathom V* 

" Looking for a copy of the Gesta Romanorum, with the idea of 
reading some of its amusing stories, during our after-dinner sit- 
tings." 

" Any thing but those Romans : it is bad enough to have read 
and believed all that Livy wrote, from his Sucking Wolf to his 
Capitol Goose, and then to have a shrewd German prove that 
kings were not kings, and consuls not consuls, just when you are 
beginning to think that you really do know something about your 
Roman History." 

" You will have but little Roman History, Thompson ; the title 
of the book but ill agrees with its contents : fables of all climes con- 
tribute their share in the formation of this singular composition. 
The majority of the tales are entirely unconnected with the History 
of Rome, though the writer, in order to, in some manner, cover this 
deviation from his title, has taken care to preface almost every story 
with the name of some emperor, who, in most cases, never existed, 
and sometimes has little to do with the incidents of the narrative." 

" To whom, most learned antiquary, arc we indebted for this 
very stout volume ':" 

" To the imagination, knowledge, and literary labour of the 
monks of the middle ages. In the refectory, whilst the monks ate 
their meals, one, the youngest generally of the society, read from 
some Mich collection as this, ;i tale at once amusing and instructive. 
Nor was the use of these fables confined to the refectory. The 
success which has always attended instruction by fables, and the 



CH. I.] THE UNGRATEFUL MAN. 3 

popularity ever consequent on this form of teaching, led the monks 
to use this medium to illustrate their public discourses, as well as 
for their own daily relaxation/' 

" Few things are more certain/' said Herbert, " than that an 
argument, however clear, — a deduction, however logical, — operates 
but faintly except on trained intellects ; but an apposite story at 
once arouses the attention, and makes a more durable impression 
on illiterate auditors. Knowledge in the garb of verse is soonest 
appreciated by an uneducated mind, and remains there far longer 
than in any other form. A ballad will descend from generation to 
generation without a fault or an interpolation." 

" Yes," rejoined Lathom ; " and next to poetry comes poetic 
prose, at the head of which class stands didactic fiction. Many a 
clever man has confessed, that he was more indebted to Shakspeare 
and Scott for his English and Scottish history, than to the standard 
historians of either land." 

" And as far as the general belief goes," said Thompson, " the 
popular dramatist or poet will always outweigh the learned histo- 
rian. Let Walpole or Turner write what they will about Richard 
the Third; to the majority, — ay, to more than four-fifths of the 
people, — he is still Shakspeare's Richard, the Humpbacked Mur- 
derer." 

" One of the best of the old monks' stories," said Lathom, 
" was translated in Blackwood's Magazine, some years since. It 
well illustrates the popular method by which the writers of these 
tales inculcated Christian duties on their brethren of the convent, or 
on their hearers in the Church. If you like, I will read it." 

The following was the tale of 

€i)t ©fojjrateM Jtoi. 

Vitalis, a noble Venetian, one day, at a hunting party, fell 
into a pit, which had been dug to catch wild animals. He 
passed a whole night and day there, and I will leave you to 
imagine his dread and his agony. The pit was dark. Vitalis 
ran from the one side of it to the other, in the hope of finding 
some branch or root by which he might climb its sides, and 
get out of his dungeon ; but he heard such confused and 
extraordinary noises, gro wrings, hissings, and plaintive cries, 



4 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

that he became half- dead with terror, and crouched in a corner 
motionless, awaiting death with the most horrid dismay. On 
the morning of the second day he heard some one passing near 
the pit ; and then raising his voice, he cried out with the most 
dolorous accent, " Help, help ! draw me out of this ; I am 
perishing !" 

A peasant crossing the forest heard his cry. At first he 
was frightened ; but after a moment or two, taking courage, 
he approached the pit, and asked who had called. 

" A poor huntsman," answered Vitalis, " who has passed a 
long night and day here. Help me out, for the love of God. 
Help me out, and I will recompense you handsomely." 
" I will do what I can," replied the peasant. 
Then Massaccio (such was the name of the peasant) took a 
hedgebill which hung at his girdle, and cutting a branch of a 
tree strong enough to bear a man, " Listen, huntsman," said 
he, " to what I am going to say to you. I will let down this 
branch into the pit. I will fasten it against the sides, and 
hold it with my hands ; and by pulling 3'ourself out by it, you 
may get free from your prison." 

" Good," answered Vitalis ; " ask me any thing you will, 
and it shall be granted." 

" I ask for nothing," said the peasant ; " but I am going 
to be married, and you may give what you like to my bride." 

So saying, Massaccio let down the branch — he soon felt it 
heavy, and the moment after a monkey leapt merrily out of the 
pit. He had fallen like Vitalis, and had seized quickly on the 
branch of Massaccio. " It was the devil surely which spoke 
to me from the pit," said Massaccio, running away in af- 
fright. 

" Do you abandon me, then ?" cried Vitalis, in a lament- 
able accent; " my friend, my dear friend, for the love of the 
Lord, for the love of your mistress, draw me out of this; I 
beg, I implore you; I will give her wedding gifts, I will en- 
rich you. I am the Lord Vitalis, a rich Venetian; do not let 
me die of hunger in this horrible pit." 

Massaccio was touched by these prayers. He returned to 



CH. I.] THE UNGRATEFUL MAN. 5 

the pit — let down another branch, and a lion jumped out, 
making the woods echo with a roar of delight. 

" Oh, certainly, certainly, it was the devil I heard," said 
Massaccio, and fled away again ; but stopping short, after a 
few paces, he heard again the piercing cries of Vitalis. 

" O God, O God," cried he ; " to die of hunger in a pit. 
Will no one then come to my help ? Whoever you may be, I 
implore you return; let me not die, when you can save me. 
I will give you a house and field, and cows and gold, all that 
you can ask for ; save me, save me only." 

Massaccio, thus implored, could not help returning. He 
let down the branch, and a serpent, hissing joyously, sprang 
out of the pit. Massaccio fell on his knees, half dead with 
fear, and repeated all the prayers he could think of to drive 
away the demon. He was only brought to himself by hearing 
the cries of despair which Vitalis uttered. 

" Will no one help me ?" said he. " Ah, then, must I 
die ? O God, O God !" and he wept and sobbed in a heart- 
breaking manner. 

" It is certainly the voice of a man, for all that," said 
Massaccio. 

" Oh, if you are still there," said Vitalis, " in the name cf 
all that is dear to you, save me, that I may die at least at 
home, and not in this horrible pit. I can say no more ; my 
voice is exhausted. Shall I give you my palace at Venice, my 
possessions, my honours ? I give them all ; and may I die if I 
forfeit my word. Life, life only ; save only my life." 

Massaccio could not resist such prayers, and mingled with 
such promises. He let down the branch again. 

"Ah, here you are at last," said he, seeing Vitalis come up. 

" Yes," said he, and uttering a cry of joy, he fainted in the 
arms of Massaccio. Massaccio sustained, assisted him, and 
brought him to himself; then, giving him his arm, " Let us," 
said he, " quit this forest ;" but Vitalis could hardly walk, 
— he was exhausted with hunger . 

" Eat this piece of bread," said Massaccio, and he gave 
him some, which he took out of his wallet. 
e 2 



6 AXCIEXT MORAL TALES. 

" My benefactor, my saviour, my good angel," said Vitalis, 
" how can I ever sufficiently recompense you!" 

" You have promised me a marriage-portion for my bride, 
and your palace at Venice for myself," said Massaccio. But 
Vitalis now began to regain his strength. 

" Yes, certainly, I will give a portion to your wife, my dear 
Massaccio, and I will make you the richest peasant of your 
village. AVhere do you live ?" 

" At Capalatta in the forest ; but I would willingly quit my 
village to establish myself at Venice in the palace you have 
promised me." 

" Here we are out of the forest," said Vitalis ; " I know 
my road now ; thank you, Massaccio." 

" But when shall I come for my palace and the portion of 
my intended ?" returned the peasant. 

" When you will," said the other; and they separated. 

Vitalis went to Venice, and Massaccio to Capalatta, where 
he related his adventure to his mistress, telling her what a rich 
portion she was to have, and what a fine palace she was to 
live in. 

The next day early he set out for Venice, and asked for the 
palace of the Signor Vitalis, — went straight to it, and told the 
domestics that he should come shortly with his mistress, in a 
fine carriage, to take possession of the palace which the Signor 
Vitalis had promised to give him. Massaccio appeared to 
those who heard him mad, and Vitalis was told that there was 
a peasant in his hall, who asked for a marriage-portion, and 
said the palace belonged to him. 

"Let him be turned out immediately," said Vitalis ; "I 
know him not." 

The valets accordingly drove him away with insults, and 
Massaccio returned to his cottage in despair, without daring 
to see his mistress. At one corner of his fireplace was seated 
the monkey, at the other corner the lion, and the serpent had 
twisted itself in spiral circles upon the hearth. Massaccio 
was seized with fear. " The man has driven me from his 
door," thought he; " the lion will certainly devour me, the 



CH. I.] THE UNGRATEFUL MAN. 7 

serpent sting me, and the monkey laugh at me ; and this will 
be my reward for saving them from the pit." But the mon- 
key turned to him with a most amicable grimace ; the lion, 
vibrating gently his tail, came and licked his hand, like a dog 
caressing his master ; and the serpent, unrolling its ringy 
body, moved about the room with a contented and grateful 
air, which gave courage to Massaccio. 

" Poor animals !" said he ; " they are better than the 
Signor Vitalis ; he drove me like a beggar from the door. 
Ah ! with what pleasure I would pitch him again into the pit. 
And my bride ! whom I thought to marry so magnificently ; 
I have not a stick of wood in my wood-house, not a morsel of 
meat for a meal, and no money to buy any. The ungrateful 
wretch, with his portion and his palace !" 

Thus did Massaccio complain. Meanwhile the monkey 
began to make significant faces, the lion to agitate his tail with 
great uneasiness, and the serpent to roll and unroll its circles 
with great rapidity. Then the monkey, approaching his bene- 
factor, made him a sign to follow, and led him into the wood- 
house, where was regularly piled up a quantity of wood suf- 
ficient for the whole year. It was the monkey who had 
collected this wood in the forest, and brought it to the cottage 
of Massaccio. Massaccio embraced the grateful ape. The 
lion then uttering a delicate roar, led him to a corner of the 
cottage, where he saw an enormous provision of game, two 
sheep, three kids, hares and rabbits in abundance, and a fine 
wild boar, all covered with the branches of trees to keep them 
fresh. It was the lion w T ho had hunted for his benefactor. 
Massaccio patted kindly his mane. " And you, then," said he 
to the serpent, " have you brought me nothing ? Art thou 
a Vitalis, or a good and honest animal like the monkey and 
the lion ?" The serpent glided rapidly under a heap of dried 
leaves, and reappeared immediately, rearing itself superbly on 
its tail, when Massaccio saw with surprise a beautiful diamond 
in its mouth. " A diamond !" cried Massaccio, and stretched 
forth his hand to stroke caressingly the serpent and take its 
offering. 



O ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

Massaccio then set out immediately for Venice to turn his 
diamond into money. He addressed himself to a jeweller. 
The jeweller examined the diamond; it was of the finest 
water. 

" How much do you ask for it ?" said he. 

" Two hundred crowns," said Massaccio, thinking his de- 
mand to he great ; it was hardly the tenth part of the value of 
the stone. The jeweller looked at Massaccio, and said, " To 
sell it at that price you must be a robber, and I arrest you." 

" If it is not worth so much, give me less," said Massaccio; 
" I am not a robber, I am an honest man ; it was the serpent 
who gave me the diamond." 

But the police now arrived, and conducted him before the 
magistrate. There he recounted his adventure, which ap- 
peared to be a mere fairy vision. Yet as the Signor Vitalis 
was implicated in the story, the magistrate referred the affair 
to the state inquisition, and Massaccio appeared before it. 

' " Relate to us your history," said one of the inquisitors, 
" and lie not, or we will have you thrown into the canal." 

Massaccio related his adventure. 

" So," said the inquisitor, " you saved the Signor Vitalis ?" 

" Yes, noble signors." 

" And he promised you a marriage -portion for your bride, 
and his palace at Venice for yourself?" 

" Yes, noble signors." 

" And he drove you like a beggar from his door?" 

" Yes, noble signors." 

" Let the Signor Vitalis appear," said the same inquisitor. 

Vitalis appeared. 

" Do you know this man, Signor Vitalis ?" said the in- 
quisitor. 

" No, I know him not," replied Vitalis. 

The inquisitors consulted together. "This man," said they, 
speaking of Massaccio, "is evidently a knave and a cheat; lie 
must be thrown into prison. Signor Vitalis, you are acquit- 
ted." Then, making a Bign to an officer of police, " Take that 
.-aid lie, " to prison." 



CH. I.] THE UNGRATEFUL MAN. 9 

Massaccio fell on his knees in the middle of the hall. ' ' Noble 
signors, noble signors," said he, "it is possible that the dia- 
mond may have been stolen ; the serpent who gave it me may 
have wished to deceive me. It is possible that the ape, the 
lion, and the serpent may all be an illusion of the demon, but 
it is true that I saved the Signor Vitalis. Signor Vitalis" 
(turning to him), " I ask you not for the marriage-portion for 
my bride, nor for your palace of marble, but say a word for 
me ; suffer me not to be thrown into prison ; do not abandon 
me ; I did not abandon you when you were in the pit." 

" Noble signors," said Vitalis, bowing to the tribunal, " I 
can only repeat what I have already said : I know not this 
man. Has he a single witness to produce ?" 

At this moment the whole court was thrown into fear and 
astonishment, for the lion, the monkey, and the serpent, en- 
tered the hall together. The monkey was mounted on the back 
of the lion, and the serpent was twined round the arm of the 
monkey. On entering, the lion roared, the monkey spluttered, 
and the serpent hissed. 

" Ah, these are the animals of the pit," cried Vitalis, in 
alarm. 

" Signor Vitalis," resumed the chief of the inquisitors, when 
the dismay which this apparition had caused had somewhat 
diminished, " you have asked where were the witnesses of 
Massaccio ? You see that God has sent them at the right 
time before the bar of our tribunal. Since, then, God has 
testified against you, we should be culpable before Him if we 
did not punish your ingratitude. Your palace and your pos- 
sessions are confiscated, and you shall pass the rest of your 
life in a narrow prison. And you," continued he, address- 
ing himself to Massaccio, who was all this time caressing the 
lion, the monkey, and the serpent, " since a Venetian has pro- 
mised you a palace of marble, and a portion for your bride, the 
republic of Venice will accomplish the promise ; the palace 
and possessions of Vitalis are thine. You," said he to the 
secretary of the tribunal, " draw up an account of all this his- 
tory, that the people of Venice may know, through all genera- 



10 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

tions, that the justice of the tribunal of the state inquisition is 
not less equitable than it is rigorous." 

Massaccio and his wife lived happily for many years after- 
wards in the palace of Vitalis with the monkey, the lion, and 
the serpent ; and Massaccio had them represented in a picture, 
on the wall of his palace, as they entered the hall of the tri- 
bunal, the lion carrying the monkey, and the monkey carrying 
the serpent. 

"To what source can this tale be traced?" 

"To the Arabian fable-book called Callah-u-Dumnah," replied 
Lathom. "Mathew Paris recites it as a fable commonly used by our 
crusading Richard to reprove his ungrateful nobles, and old Gower 
has versified it in his Confessio A mantis. The translator in Black- 
wood seems not to have been aware of its existence in the Gesta 
Romanorum, content to translate it from the later version of Mas- 
senius, a German Jesuit, who lived at Cologne in 1657." 

" Few subjects," said Herbert, " seem more involved than the 
history of didactic fiction. The more mysterious an investigation 
bids fair to be, the less we have to depend on fact ; and the more 
we are at the mercy of conjecture, so much the more does the mind 
love to grasp at the mystery, and delight in the dim perspective and 
intricacies of the way. Each successive adventurer finds it more 
easy to pull down the various bridges, and break in the various 
cuttings by which his predecessor has endeavoured to make the 
way straight, than to throw his own bridge over the river or the 
morass of time that intervenes between the traveller and the goal." 

" Four distinct sources," said Lathom, " have been contended 
for : the Scandinavian bards, the Arabians of the Spanish peninsula, 
the Armoricans or Bretons, and the classical authors of Greece 
and Rome. Mallet and Bishop Percy come forward as the advo- 
cates of Scandinavia ; Dr. Wharton writes himself the champion of 
the Spanish Arabians ; Wilson is rather inclined to the Breton 
theory ; and Dr. Southey and Mr. Dunlop come forward as the 
advocates of the classical and mythological authors ; whilst Sir 
Henry Ellis would reconcile all differences by a jumble of Breton 
scenes coloured by Scandinavia and worked by Arabian ma- 
chinery. Let us, however, adjourn this subject until to-morrow, 
as I wish to read you another of these tales, in order to give you 



CH. I.] JOVINIAN THE PROUD EMPEROR. 11 

some idea of the moral applications and explanations appended to 
them by the monkish writers. We will take Jovinian the Proud 
Emperor, and in this case you must be content with my own 
translation." 

SMtntan tije ;Proutt (Emperor* 

In the days of old, when the empire of the world was in the 
hands of the lord of Rome, Jovinian was emperor. Oft as he 
lay on his couch, and mused upon his power and his wealth, 
his heart was elated beyond measure, and he said within him- 
self, " Verily, there is no other god than me." 

It happened one morning after he had thus said unto him- 
self, that the emperor arose, and summoning his huntsmen 
and his friends, hastened to chase the wild deer of the forest. 
The chase was long and swift, and the sun was high in the 
heavens, when Jovinian reined up his horse on the bank of 
a clear bright stream that ran through the fertile country on 
which his palace stood. Allured by the refreshing appearance 
of the stream, he bade his attendants abide still, whilst he 
sought a secluded pool beneath some willows, where he might 
bathe unseen. 

The emperor hastened to the pool, cast off his garments, 
and revelled in the refreshing coolness of the waters. But 
whilst he thus bathed, a person like to him in form, in feature, 
and in voice, approached the river's bank, arrayed himself 
unperceived in the imperial garments, and then sprang on 
Jovinian' s horse, and rode to meet the huntsmen, who, de- 
ceived by the likeness and the dress, obeyed his commands, 
and followed their new emperor to the palace -gates. 

Jovinian at length quitted the water, and sought in every 
direction for his apparel and his horse, but could not find 
them. He called aloud upon his attendants, but they heard 
him not, being already in attendance on the false emperor. 
And Jovinian regarded his nakedness, and said, " Miserable 
man that I am, to what a state am I reduced ! Whither 
shall I go ? Who will receive me in this plight ? I bethink 
me there is a knight hereabout w T hom I have advanced to great 



12 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

honour : I will seek him, and with his assistance regain my 
palace, and punish the person who has done me this wrong." 

Naked and ashamed, Jovinian sought the gate of the knight's 
castle, and knocked loudly at the wicket. 

" Who art thou, and what dost thou seek ?" asked the 
porter, without unclosing the gate. 

" Open, open, sirrah !" replied the emperor, with redoubled 
knocks on the wicket. 

" In the name of wonder, friend, who art thou ?" said the 
old porter as he opened the gate, and saw the strange figure 
of the emperor before the threshold. 

" Who am I, askest thou, sirrah ? I am thy emperor. Go 
tell thy master, Jovinian is at his gate, and bid him bring forth 
a horse and some garments, to supply those that I have been 
deprived of." 

" Rascal," rejoined the porter — " thou the emperor ! Why 
the emperor but just now rode up to the castle, with all his 
attendants, and honoured my master by sitting with him at 
meat in the great hall. Thou the emperor ! a very pretty 
emperor indeed ; faugh, Fll tell my master what you say, 
and he will soon find out whether you are mad, drunk, or a 
thief." 

The porter, greatly enraged, went and told his lord how 
that a naked fellow stood at the gate, calling himself the 
emperor, and demanding clothes and a good steed. 
" Bring the fellow in," said the knight. 
So they brought in Jovinian, and he stood before the lord 
of the castle, and again declared himself to be the emperor 
Jovinian. Loud laughed the knight to the emperor. 

" What thou my lord the emperor ! art mad, good fellow ? 

Come, give him my old cloak, it will keep him from the flies." 

" Yes, sir knight," replied Jovinian, "lam thy emperor, 

who advanced thee to great honour and wealth, and will shortly 

punish thee for thy present conduct." 

" Scoundrel !" said the knight, now enraged beyond all 
bounds, " traitor! thou the emperor; ay, of beggars and fools. 
Why, did not my lord but lately sit with me in my hall, and 



CH. I.] JOVINIAN THE PROUD EMPEROR. 13 

taste of my poor cheer ? and did he not bid me ride with him 
to his palace-gate, whence I am but now returned ? Fool, I 
pitied thee before ; now I see thy villany. Go, turn the fellow 
out, and flog him from the castle-ditch to the river-side." 

And the people did as the knight commanded them. So 
when they ceased from flogging the emperor, he sat him down 
on the grass, and covered him with the tattered robe, and com- 
muned on his own wretchedness. 

" Oh, my God !" said Jovinian, — for he now thought of 
other gods but himself, — " is it possible that I have come to 
such a state of misery, and that through the ingratitude of 
one whom I have raised so high !" And as he thus spake, he 
thought not of his own ingratitude to his God, through whom 
alone all princes reign and live. And now he brooded over 
vengeance. " Ay," said he, as he felt the sore weals on his 
back from the scourging ; "ay, I will be avenged. When 
he next sees me, he shall know that he who gives can also 
take away. Come, I will seek the good duke, my ablest coun- 
sellor ; he will know his sovereign, and gladly aid him in his 
calamity." And with these thoughts he wrapped his cloak 
round him, and sought the house of the good duke. 

Jovinian knocked at the gate of the duke's palace ; and 
the porter opened the wicket, and seeing a half-naked man, 
asked him why he knocked, and who he was. 

" Friend," replied the emperor, " I am Jovinian. I have 
been robbed of my clothes whilst bathing, and am now with 
no apparel save this ragged cloak, and no horse; so tell the 
duke the emperor is here." 

The porter, more and more astonished at the emperor's 
words, sought his master, and delivered Jovinian' s message 
to him. 

"Bring in the poor man," said the duke; " peradventure 
he is mad." 

So they brought Jovinian into the duke's great hall, and 
the duke looked on him, but knew him not. And when 
Jovinian reiterated his story, and spr 1 " angrily unto the duke, 
he pitied him, " Poor mad fellow," said the good duke, "I have 



14 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

but just now returned from the palace, where I left the very- 
emperor thou assumest to be. Take him to the guard-house. 
Perhaps a few days' close confinement on bread and water 
may cool his heated brain. Go, poor fellow ; I pity thee !" 

So the servants did as their lord commanded, and they fed 
Jovinian on bread and water, and after a time turned him out 
of the castle ; for he still said he was the emperor. 

Sorely and bitterly did the emperor weep and bewail his 
miserable fate, when the servants drove him from the castle- 
gate. " Alas, alas !" he exclaimed in his misery, " what shall 
I do, and whither shall I resort ? Even the good duke knew 
me not, but regarded me as a poor madman. Come, I will 
seek my own palace, and discover myself to my wife. Surely 
she will know me at least." 

"Who art thou, poor man?" asked the king's porter of 
him when he stood before the palace-gate, and would have 
entered in. 

" Thou oughtest to know me," replied Jovinian, " seeing 
thou hast served me these fifteen years." 

" Served you, you dirty fellow !" rejoined the porter. " I 
serve the emperor. Serve you, indeed !" 

"I am the emperor. Dost thou not know me ? Come, 
my good fellow, seek the empress, and bid her, by the sign of 
the three moles on the emperor's breast, send me hither the 
imperial robes, which some fellow stole whilst I was bathing." 
"Ha, ha! fellow; well, you are royally mad. Why, the 
emperor is at dinner with his wife. Well, well, I'll do thy 
bidding, if it be but to have the whipping of thee afterwards for 
an impudent madman. Three moles on the emperor's breast ! 
how royally thou shalt be beaten, my friend !" 

When the porter told the empress what the poor madman 
at the gate had said, she held down her head, and said, with a 
sorrowful voice, unto her lord, " My good lord and king, here 
is a fellow at the palace-gate that hath sent unto me, and bids 
me, by those secret signs known only to thee and me, to send 
him the imperial robes, and welcome him as my husband and 
my sovereign." 



CH. I.] JOVINIAN THE FE.OUD EMPEROR. 15 

When the fictitious emperor heard this, he bade the attend- 
ants bring in Jovinian, And lo, as he entered the hall, the 
great wolf-hound, that had slept at his feet for years, sprang 
from his lair, and would have pulled him down, had not the 
attendants prevented him ; whilst the falcon, that had sat on 
his wrist in many a fair day's hawking, broke her jesses, and 
flew out of the hall : so changed was Jovinian the emperor. 

"Nobles and friends," said the new emperor, "hear ye 
what I will ask of this man." 

And the nobles bowed assent, whilst the emperor asked of 
Jovinian his name, and his business with the empress. 

" Askest thou me who I am, and wherefore I am come ?" 
rejoined Jovinian. "Am not I thy emperor, and the lord of 
this house and this realm ?" 

" These our nobles shall decide," replied the new king. 
" Tell me now, which of us twain is your emperor?" 

And the nobles answered with one accord : " Thou dost 
trifle with us, sire. Can we doubt that thou art our emperor, 
whom we have known from his childhood ? As for this base 
fellow, we know not who he is." 

And with one accord the people cried out against Jovinian, 
that he should be punished. 

On this the usurper turned to the empress of Jovinian — 
"Tell me," said he, " on thy true faith, knowest thou this 
man who calls himself emperor of this realm ?" 

And the empress answered, " Good my lord, have not thirty 
years passed since I first knew thee, and became the mother of 
our children ? Why askest thou me of this fellow ? and yet it 
doth surprise me how he should know what none save you and 
I can know ?" 

Then the usurper turned to Jovinian, and with a harsh 
countenance rebuked his presumption, and ordered the execu- 
tioners to drag him by the feet by horses until he died. This 
said he before all his court ; but he sent his servant to the 
jailor, and commanded him to scourge Jovinian ; and for this 
once to set him free. 

The deposed emperor desired death. " Why," said he to 



16 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

himself, " should I now live ? my friends, my dependents, yea, 
even the partner of my bed shuns me, and I am desolate among 
those whom my bounties have raised. Come, I will seek the 
good priest, to whom I so often have laid open my most secret 
faults ; of a surety, he will remember me." 

Now, the good priest lived in a small cell, nigh to a chapel 
about a stone's cast from the palace -gate ; and when Jovinian 
knocked, the priest being engaged in reading, answered from 
within, " Who is there? why troublest thou me ?" 

" I am the emperor Jovinian ; open the window, I would 
speak to thee," replied the fugitive. 

Immediately the narrow window of the cell was opened, and 
the priest, looking out, saw no one save the poor half- clothed 
Jovinian. " Depart from me, thou accursed thing," cried the 
priest ; " thou art not our good lord the emperor, but the foul 
fiend himself, the great tempter." 

"Alas, alas !" cried Jovinian, "to what fate am I reserved, 
that even my own good priest despises me ! Ah me, I bethink 
me — in the arrogance of my heart, I called myself a god : the 
weight of my sin is grievous unto me. Father, good father, 
hear the sins of a miserable penitent." 

Gladly did the priest listen to Jovinian ; and when he had 
told him all his sins, the good priest comforted the penitent, 
and assured him of God's mercy, if his repentance was sincere. 
And so it happened that on this a cloud seemed to fall from 
before the eyes of the priest ; and when he again looked on 
Jovinian, he knew him to be the emperor, and he pitied him, 
clothing him with such poor garments as he had, and went 
with him to the palace- gate. 

The porter stood in the gateway, and, as Jovinian and the 
priest drew near, he made a lowly obeisance, and opened the 
gate for the emperor. "Dost thou know me?" asked the 
emperor. 

"Very well, my lord," replied the servant; " but I wish 
that you had not left the palace." 

So Jovinian passed on to the hall of his palace ; and as he 
went, all the nobles rose and bowed to the emperor ; for the 



CH. I.] JOVINIAN THE PROUD EMPEROR. 17 

usurper was in another apartment, and the nobles knew again 
the face of Jovinian. 

But a certain knight passed into the presence of the false 
emperor. " My lord," said he, " there is one in the great 
hall to whom all men bow, for he so much resembleth you that 
we know not which is the emperor." 

Then said the usurper to the empress, " Go and see if you 
know this man." 

" Oh, my good lord," said the empress, when she returned 
from the hall, " whom can I believe ? are there, then, two 
Jovinians ?" 

" I will myself go and determine," rejoined the usurper, as 
he took the empress by her hand, and leading her into the 
great hall, placed her on the throne beside himself. 

" Kinsfolk and nobles," said the usurper, "by the oaths ye 
have sworn, determine between me and this man." 

And the empress answered, "Let me, as in duty bound, 
speak first. Heaven be my witness, I know not which is my 
lord and husband." 

And all the nobles said the same. 

Thereupon the feigned Jovinian rose and spake : " Nobles 
and friends, hearken ! that man is your emperor and your 
master ; hear ye him ; know that he did exalt himself above 
that which was right, and make himself equal unto God. 
Verily he hath been rewarded ; he hath suffered much indig- 
nity and wrong, and, of God's will, ye knew him not ; he hath 
repented him of his grievous sin, and the scourge is now re- 
moved ; he has made such satisfaction as man can make. Hear 
ye him, know him, obey him." 

As the feigned emperor thus addressed the astonished 
nobles, his features seemed illumed with a fair and spiritual 
light, his imperial robes fell from off him, and he stood con- 
fessed before the assembly an angel of God, clothed in white 
raiment. And, as he ended his speech, he bowed his head, and 
vanished from their sight. 

Jovinian returned to his throne, and for three years reigned 
with so much mercy and justice, that his subjects had no cause 
c 2 



18 ANCIEXT MORAL TALES. 

to regret the change of their emperor. And it came to pass, 
after the space of three years, the same angel appeared to him 
in a dream, and warned him of his death. So Jovinian dic- 
tated his troublous life to his secretaries, that it might remain 
as a warning unto all men against worldly pride, and an in- 
citement to the performance of our religious duties. And 
when he had so done, he meekly resigned himself, and fell 
asleep in death. 



" So much for the story, as a story ; now for the moral, with all 
that eccentric spirit of refinement and abstraction with which the 
age was characterised," said Herbert. 

" The moral in this case is less eccentric than in many to which 
I hope we shall come before Christmas is over. 

" Jovinian was but the picture of the proud, worldly-minded man, 
entirely given up to vanity and folly. The first knight whose castle 
he visited was true wisdom, ever disdainful of the pomps and vani- 
ties of the world. The next knight was conscience. The dog that 
turned against his old master was the lusts of the flesh, our own 
evil desires, which will ever in the end turn against those who have 
pampered them. The falcon is God's grace; the empress, man's 
soul ; and the clothes in which the good priest clothed the half- 
frozen emperer are those kingly virtues which he had thrown off, 
when he gave loose to the vanities of the world." 

" It must be admitted," remarked Herbert, " that from very early 
times a secondary meaning was commonly attached to every import- 
ant work ; it progressed from the sacred writings through the poetic 
fictions of the classics, to compositions professedly allegorical. The 
want of discrimination, which in our eyes assumes much of the appear- 
ance of profane levity, with which the fictions of the classics were 
interpreted to signify the great truths and mysteries of religion, was, 
perhaps, hardly reprehensible in the simple state of knowledge which 
prevailed at the time when these attempts at secondary interpretation 
were made" 

" And hence it was," said Lathom, "that in the early ages it 
might seem to partake of little levity to prefigure our Saviour's birth 
in that of Bacchus ; his sufferings and death in that of Action, or 
his resurrection in the legend of Hercules, as related by Lycophron ; 



CH. I.] MORALS OF THE TALES. 19 

as late as the thirteenth century the Franciscan Walleys wrote a 
moral and theological exposition of the Metamorphoses of Ovid." 

"But surely the writers of that age did npt stop there," said 
Thompson ; "was it not the case, that to these expositions succeeded 
compositions professedly allegorical, and which the spirit of refine- 
ment of that age resolved into further allegories, for which they were 
never intended?" 

"Undoubtedly so, " replied Lathom ; "it was not enough that 
the writer of the ' Romaunt of the Rose' had allegorised the difficul- 
ties of an ardent lover in the accomplishment of his object, under 
the mystery of the rose which was to be gathered in a fair but al- 
most inaccessible garden. Every profession saw in this allegory the 
great mystery of their craft. To the theologian it was the rose of 
Jericho, the New Jerusalem, the Blessed Virgin, or any other mys- 
tery to which obstinate heretics were unable to attain ; to the 
chemist it was the philosopher's stone ; to the lawyer it was the 
most consummate point of equity ; to the physician the infallible 
panacea, the water of life. And does not this spirit of allegory extend 
to the present day, only in a somewhat different form ?" 

"Not unlike the present system of commentating," remarked 
Henry Herbert. " As soon as a poet has attained to any great re- 
putation, and death has sealed up his writings, then comes the host 
of annotators and critics, each one more intent than his predecessor 
to develop the mind of the writer ; to discover with what hidden in- 
tentions, with what feelings, this or that passage was written; and to 
build on some stray expression a mighty theory, for some clever 
writer to overthrow, and raise a new fabric on its ruins. And in 
these attempts it is not the old author whose glory is sought to be 
heightened, but the new man who would ascend the ladder of repu- 
tation on the labours of the ' man of old. ' " 

" Far different," rejoined Lathom, "was the spirit which 
prompted the fashion of resolving every thing into allegories in the 
middle ages ; nor, indeed, is it to be solely charged to an unmeaning 
and wanton spirit of refinement. ' The same apology,' says Whar- 
ton, 'may be offered for cabalistic interpreters, both of the classics 
and of the old romances. The former, not willing that these books 
should be quite exploded which contained the ancient mythology, 
laboured to reconcile the apparent absurdities of the pagan system 
with the Christian mysteries, by demonstrating a figurative resem- 



20 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

blance. The latter, as true learning began to dawn, with a view of 
supporting for a time the expiring credit of giants and magicians, 
were compelled to palliate those monstrous incredibilities, by a bold 
attempt to unravel the mystic web which had been wove by fairy 
hands, and by shewing that truth was hid under the gorgeous veil of 
gothic invention.' And now, Thompson, we must adjourn, you 
to your real Greeks and Romans, Herbert and I to Aristotle's Sum- 
mum Bonum." 



CHAPTER II. 

DISCUSSION ON THE SOURCE OF FICTION RENEWED THE STORY OF 

THE KING AND THE GLUTTON GUIDO, THE PERFECT SERVANT 

THE MIDDLE-AGE ALLEGORIES PLINY AND MANDEVILLe's WONDERS 

ALLEGORISED. fe < ... 

^i£zJLfa?fp URELY," said Henry Herbert, when the friends were 
^yfW^ttVfJ again assembled, " surely the poems of the northern 
eit^T^^/ J Scalds, the legends of the Arabians of Spain, the 
BJdi^>MT' d songs of the Armoricans, and the classics of the 
ancient world, have been the sources of the most 
prevalent fictions." 

** The sources from which the monks themselves compiled these 
stories, but by no means the original sources," replied Lathom. 
"The immediate source must be sought" in even earlier times and 
more eastern climes. In some instances perverted notions of Scrip- 
ture characters furnished the supernatural agency of the legend ; in 
the majority the machinery came direct from the east, already 
dilated and improved. In many parts of the old Scriptures we 
learn how familiar the nations of the east were with spells ; and the 
elevation of Solomon Daoud to the throne of the Genii, and to the 
lordship of the Talisman, proves the traditional intercourse between 
God's own people and the nations of the far east." 

"The theory is probable," said Thompson. "We can easily 
conceive how the contest of David and Goliath may have formed the 
foundation of many a fierce encounter between knight and giant, 
and the feats of Samson been dilated into the miracles of the heroes 
of chivalry." 

" There is one very pertinent instance of such a conversion in 
this very book. In the book of Tobit, which is indeed referred to 
in the application of the tale of ' The Emperor Vespasian and the 
Two Rings,' we find an angel in the place of a saint, enchantments, 
antidotes, distressed damsels, demons, and nearly all the recognised 
machinery of fiction. The vagaries of the Talmud, clearly derived 



22 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

from eastern sources, were no small treasure on which to draw for 
wonders and miracles. And when we find all the machinery of the 
east in the poems of the Scalds, we cannot but perceive how much 
more reasonable it is to suppose the cold conceptions of the northern 
bards to have been fed from the east, than the warm imaginations 
of the east to have drawn their inspiration from the north." 

" Very plausible, Lathoni," replied Herbert ; " but still this ob- 
jection must not be neglected — the ignorance and misrepresentation 
of the religions. e"f the east, shewn through every page of the popular 
legends of the chivalric age." 

" An objection of apparent weight, I will admit ; and yet may 
it not have been the aim of the Christian writers to represent the 
infidels in the worst possible light, to pervert their creed, to exag- 
gerate their vices ? The charge of idolatry, and the adoration of 
the golden image of Mahomet, may have been mere pious frauds." 

" Admitting even this apology," rejoined Herbert, " the difference 
of religion in the east and north seems another objection. The 
Romans adopted the legends of Greece, and naturalised them. 
With the mythology came the religious rites appendant to it. How 
did it happen that the Scalds adopted the one without falling into 
the other error ?" 

"Are the cases similar ?" replied Lathom ; "were the nations 
alike ? Was there no difference of predisposition in the Romans 
and the Scalds as to the adoption of the mythologies of the East 
and of Greece ? Had not long intercourse in the one case prepared 
the Romans to receive? did not the system agree with their preconceived 
notions ? Such was not the case with the northern nations. Chil- 
dren, and rude children of nature, they were in no way prepared for 
a similar effect ; but, seizing on the prominent features of the 
legends presented to them, they engrafted them on their own wild 
and terrible stories, adding to the original matter in some cases, and 
rejecting portions of it in others." 

"Well, I will not carry this discussion further," said Herbert, 
" for fear of losing a story to-night ; but I by no means give up my 
sources of didactic fictions." 

" Well, then, a truce for this evening. I will read the tale of 
lli! King and the Glutton, by which the old monk wished to illus- 
trate the moral, that men are blinded by their own avarice." 



ch. ii.] 23 

Cije Btng antf tyt Glutton. 

There once lived a king of Rome, who, out of charity to the 
blind, decreed that every subject of his that was so afflicted 
should be entitled to receive a hundred shillings from the royal 
treasury. Now there was in Rome a club of men who lived 
for the world alone, and spent all they had in rioting and eat- 
ing. Seven days had they continued revelling at one tavern, 
when the host demanded to be paid his bill. Every one 
searched his pockets, but still there was not enough to pay 
the reckoning. 

" There still wants one hundred shillings," said the inn- 
keeper ; " and until that is paid ye go not hence." 

These young men knew not what to do, as they were pen- 
niless. " What shall we do ?" said they one to another. " How 
can we pay so large a sum ?" At length one bethought him 
of the king's edict. 

" Listen," said he, " listen to me ; does not the king give 
one hundred shillings to every blind man that applies for it ?" 

"Even so," said the rest; "but what then? we are not 
blind." " What then ?" rejoined the young man. "Come, let us 
cast lots who shall be made blind, that when he is deprived of 
sight we may take him to the king's palace, and obtain the 
hundred shillings." 

So the young men cast lots, and the lot fell upon the man 
who had proposed this plan. And the rest took him, and put- 
ting out his eyes, led him to the king's palace. When they 
knocked at the gate, the porter opened the wicket, and de- 
manded their business. 

"Business," said they ; "see ye not our companion is 
blind ? he seeks to receive the king's benevolent gift." 

" The blindness is rather sudden," muttered the porter, 
who knew the young man by sight. " Well, well, I will fetch 
the almoner." 

So the almoner, who distributed the king's charity, came 
to the gate, and looking on the young man, asked him what 
he wanted. 



24 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" A hundred shillings, which my lord the king gives to 
those that are blind," replied the youth. 

" Thy blindness is very sudden," rejoined the almoner ; 
" when did it happen, and where ? for I saw thee yesterday 
with both eyes perfect in the tavern by the city wall." 

" Last night, noble sir," replied the blind man, " last night, 
at that tavern I became blind." 

" Go fetch the host," said the almoner, sternly; " we will 
look into this matter more fully." 

So when the innkeeper came, he inquired of him how the 
matter was : and when he had heard all their deeds, he turned 
to the young man and said : 

" Of a surety thou knowest but half the law, and dost in- 
terpret it wrong ; to such as are blind by God's act, does our 
gracious king give his charity ; such the law protects and re- 
lieves. But thou — why art thou blind ? Thinkest thou that 
thou dost deserve to be rewarded for voluntarily surrendering 
thine eyes, in order to discharge the debt thou and thy com- 
panions had contracted by gluttony and rioting ? Begone, 
foolish man ; thy avarice hath made thee blind." 

So they drove away the young men from the king's gate, 
lamenting their folly and wickedness. 



" There can be little doubt," said Herbert, " what moral the 
author of this tale intended to teach. The king's gift clearly illus- 
trates God's reward of forgiveness to those that by natural infirmity 
and temptation fall into sin ; as the withholding of it from the 
glutton is meant to teach us how difficult it will be to obtain the 
forgiveness of voluntary sin, done out of pure wickedness." 

"You have found out the monk's moral rightly in this tale, 
Henry ; but I think you will not be so successful in that which I 
now propose reading to you — the story of Guido, the Perfect Ser- 
vant." 

^utoo, tljc perfect i&crbant. 

There was once a great emperor of Rome, named Valerius, 
who would that every man, according to his wishes, should 



CH. II.] GUIDO, THE PERFECT SERVANT. 25 

serve him; so he commanded that whosoever should strike 
three times on the gate of his palace, should be admitted to do 
him service. In the emperor's kingdom was also a poor man, 
named Guido, who, when he heard of his lord's commands, 
thus spake with himself : " Now I am a poor man and lowly- 
born ; is it not better to live and serve, than to starve and 
be free ?" So he went to the king's gate, and knocked three 
knocks ; and lo, it was opened to him, according as it had been 
said ; and he was brought before the emperor. 

" What seek you, friend ?" asked Valerius, as Guido bowed 
before him. 

" To serve my king," was Guido' s reply. 

" What service can you perform for me ?" rejoined the 
emperor. 

" Six services can I perform, O king : as your body-guard, I 
can prepare your bed and your food, and attend your chamber. 
I can sleep when others watch, and watch while others sleep. 
As your cup-bearer, I can drink good wine, and tell whether it 
be so or not. I can summon the guests to my master's ban- 
quet, to his great honour and benefit. I can kindle a fire 
which shall warm all that seek it, and yet not smoke. And I 
can shew the way to the Holy Land, to the health of such as 
shall go thither." 

"By my truth," rejoined the emperor, " these are great 
things that thou dost promise : see that thou do them ; each 
for one year. Serve me first as my body-guard." 

Guido was content to obey the emperor ; and he prepared 
to perform his duties as his body-guard. Every night he made 
ready the emperor's bed, and prepared his apparel. Every 
night he lay before the emperor's chamber- door, armed at all 
points ; whilst by his side watched a faithful dog to warn him 
of the approach of danger. In every thing did he minister so 
faithfully to his lord, that the emperor was well pleased with 
him ; and, after his first year, made him seneschal of his castle 
and steward of his household. Then did Guido commence his 
labours in bis second office. During the entire summer he 
gathered large stores of every thing needful into the castle, and 



26 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

collected much provision at little cost, by carefully watching 
his opportunities. Anon came on the winter ; and when those 
who had slept during the times of plenty began to labour and 
lay up in their store-houses, Guido remained at ease, and com- 
pleted his second year's service with credit to himself. 

And now the third 3^ear of Guido's service came on ; and 
the emperor called for his chief butler, and said, "Mix in a cup 
good wine, must, and vinegar, and give it to Guido to drink ; 
that we may know how he doth taste good drink, and what he 
knoweth of its qualities." 

So the butler did as he was ordered, and gave the cup to 
Guido, who, when he had tasted of it, said, " Of a truth it was 
good, it is good, and it will be good." And when the emperor 
asked him how these things could be, he said, " The vinegar 
was good, the old wine is good, and the must will be good 
when it is older." So the emperor saw that he had answered 
rightly and discreetly of the mixture, which he knew not of 
before. "Go, therefore," said Valerius, " through iny country 
and invite my friends to a banquet at the festival of Christmas 
now at hand;" and Guido bowed assent, and departed on his 
way. 

But Guido did not execute his lord's commands — going 
not unto his friends but unto his enemies. So that when the 
emperor descended into his banquet-hall, his heart was trou- 
bled ; for his enemies sat round his table, and there was not a 
friend among them. So he called Guido, and spake angrily 
to him. 

"How, sir ! didst thou not tell me that thou knewest whom 
to invite to my banquet?" 

And Guido said, " Of a surety, my lord." 

"Did not I bid thee invite my friends? and how, then, 
hast thou summoned all mine enemies ?" 

And Guido said, "May thy servant speak ?" 

So the emperor said, " Speak on." 

And the servant said, " My lord, there is no season or time 
thai thy friends may not visit thee, and be received with plea- 
sure and honour ; but it is not so with thine enemies. Then 



CH. II.] GUIDO, THE PERFECT SERVANT. 27 

I said to myself, ' Conciliation and kindness would go far to 
convert enemies into friends.' " 

Now it turned out as Guido hoped ; for ere the feast was 
ended, the king and his enemies were reconciled to each other, 
and became friends even unto the end of their days. So the 
emperor called Guido, and said, "With God's blessing thy de- 
sign has prospered. Come now, make for my reconciled ene- 
mies and me a fire that shall burn without smoke." 

And Guido answered, " It shall be done as thou hast re- 
quired, O king." 

So he sent and gathered much green wood, and dried it in 
the sun until it was quite dry, and therewith made a fire that 
did cast out much heat, and yet did not smoke. So that the 
emperor and his friends rejoiced greatly therein. And so it 
was when the emperor saw how well Guido had performed his 
five ministries, he bade him execute his sixth service, that he 
might attain to great honour in his kingdom. 

" My lord," said Guido, " he that would know the way to 
the Holy Land must follow me to the sea-shore." 

So a proclamation went forth from the king to that effect ; 
and great multitudes of men and women flocked to the sea- 
shore after Guido. When the people were come, Guido said, 
" My friends, do you see in the ocean the things that I see ?" 

And the people answered, " We know not." 

" See ye in the midst of the waves a huge rock ?" 

And the people answered, "It is even so : why ask you 
this of us ?" 

" Know ye all," replied Guido, " that on that rock liveth a 
bird, that sitteth continually on her nest, in which are seven 
eggs. While she so sitteth, behold the sea is calm, and men 
may pass to and fro over the wide waters in safety. But when 
she doth quit her nest, the winds blow, and the waves rise, and 
many perish on the waters." 

Then said the people, " How shall we know when this biid 
quitteth her nest ?" 

And Guido answered, " She sitteth always, unless a sudden 
emergency happen ; and then when she is away, there cometh 



28 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

another bird, great and strong, that defileth her nest, and 
breaketh her seven eggs, which, when the first bird seeth, she 
flieth away, and the winds and storms arise ; then must the 
shipman remain in port." 

Then said the people, "Master, how may we prevent 
these things, and defend the bird and her nest from her enemy ?" 

And Guido said, " The enemy hateth the blood of the lamb, 
and cannot come where that is. Sprinkle, therefore, the in- 
side and outside of the nest with this blood ; and so long as 
one drop remaineth, the friendly bird will sit in peace, and the 
waves will not rage and swell, and there shall be safety on the 
waters of the sea." 

And the people did as Guido said. They took the blood of 
a lamb, and sprinkled the nest and the rock therewith. Then 
passed the emperor and all his people to the Holy Land, and 
returned in peace and safety. And the emperor did as he had 
promised unto Guido, and rewarded the perfect servant with 
great riches, promoting him to high honour among the people. 



" I confess myself conquered," said Henry Herbert, as soon as 
the story was concluded. " Some points in the allegory are clear ; 
as the way to the Holy Land, and the sprinkling of the blood of the 
lamb ; but the rest are beyond my discovering." 

"The explanation," said Herbert, " is undoubtedly more recon- 
dite than any we have read as yet. The great emperor is our 
Father in heaven ; the three blows on his gate are prayer, self- 
denial, charity ; by these three any one may become his faithful 
servant. Guido is a poor Christian, by baptism made his servant. 
His first service is, to serve his God, and to prepare the heart for 
virtue. His second duty is to watch ; ' for he knoweth not the day 
nor the hour when the Son of Man cometh.' His third task is, to 
taste of repentance, which was good to the saints who are departed, 
is good to such of us as it brings to salvation, and will be good to all 
in the last day. The fourth duty is, to invite Christ's enemies to 
be His friends, and to come to the banquet of His love ; for He 
came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance/ The 
lire that burnetii without smoke is the fire of charity, which burnetii 



CH. II.] THE MIDDLE-AGE ALLEGORIES. 29 

free of all ill will and bad feeling. The way to the Holy Land is 
our course heavenward. We are to sail over our sea, the world ; in 
the midst of which standeth our rock, even our heart, on which the 
holy bird of God's Spirit resteth. The seven eggs are the gifts of 
the Spirit. When the Spirit leaves us, the devil hasteth to defile 
our hearts ; but the blood of the Lamb which was slain for us, even 
our Saviour, will ward off the attack of our enemy, so long as we 
are sprinkled therewith." 

"The explanation is characteristic of the age," said Herbert. 

"What, then," rejoined Lathom, "will you say to the moral 
drawn by these writers from the wonders that Pliny believed in, 
without seeing, and Sir John de Mandeville tried to persuade the 
world he believed in, from seeing?" 

" What," said Thompson, " the Anthropophagi, and men whose 
heads do grow beneath their shoulders ?" 

" No creature is so monstrous, no fable so incredible, but that 
the monkish writers could give it a moral form, and extract from its 
crudities and quiddities some moral or religious lesson." 

" They believed in the words of the song," said Thompson — 

' Reason sure will always bring 
Something out of every thing.' " 

" Pliny's dog-headed race," said Lathom, " whom Sir John 
places in the island of Macumeran, and at the same time gives to 
them a quasi pope for a king, who says three hundred prayers per 
diem before he either eats or drinks, were naturally regarded by the 
middle-age writers as symbolical of priestly preachers of faithful 
hearts and frugal habits ; whilst of those other islanders, who ' have 
but one eye, and that in the middest of their front, and eat their 
flesh and fish raw,' the monk says, ' These be they that have the 
eye of prayer/ The Astomes, who have no mouths, ' are all harie 
over the whole bodie, yet clothed with soft cotton and downe, that 
cometh from the leaves of trees, and live only on aire, and by the 
smelling of sweet odours, which they draw through their nose- 
thrills/ are the abstemious of this world, who die of the sin of 
gluttony, even as an Astome by the accidental inhalation of bad 
odour. Humility is signified by the absence of the head, and the 
placing of the face in the breast ; and a tendency to sin is fore- 
shadowed by a desire and habit of walking on all fours, or pride by 
d 2 



30 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

short noses and goat's feet. The Mandevillean islanders, who had 
flat faces without noses, and two round holes for their eyes, and 
thought whatsoever they saw to be good, were earth's foolish ones ; 
as those foul men, who have their lips so great, that when they 
sleep in the sun, they cover all their face therewith, are the just 
men, the salt of the earth." 

"One would as soon dream of allegorising the Sciapodes of 
Aristophanes, or Homer's Cranes and Pigmies," said Thompson. 
" And so the monk has," said Lathom. 

" What the old Greek's parasol-footed people, of whom Mande- 
ville says with such gravity, 'There be in Ethiope such men as 
have but one foot, and they go so fast that it is a great marvel ; and 
that is a large foot, for the shadow thereof covereth the body from 
sun or rain, when they lie upon their back ?" 

" Both Aristophanes and his follower would doubtless be as sur- 
prised in learning that their Sciapodes were allegorical of the chari- 
table of this world, as Homer would in discovering in his crane- 
fighting pigmies those mortals who begin well, but cease to do well 
before they attain perfection ; or in their neighbours who boast of 
six hands, and despise clothes in favour of long hair, and live in 
rivers, the hardworking and laborious among men." 

"The last is decidedly the most intelligible," remarked Herbert. 
"The reason of the explanation is not always clear," replied 
Lathom ; " it is not very easy to decide why those who have six 
fingers and six toes are the unpolluted, and why virtuous men are 
represented by a race of women with bald heads, and beards flowing 
to their breast ; nor is it very clear that virtue is well represented by 
a double allowance of eyes. But one curiosity remains— the beauti- 
ful men of Europe who boast a crane's head, neck, and beak. These, 
says the author of the Gesta, represent judges, who should have long 
necks and beaks, that what the heart thirties, may be long before it 
reach the mouth." 




CHAPTER III. 

THE PROGRESS OF FICTION FROM THE EAST TO THE WEST THE EARLY 

CHRISTIANS THE MONKS THE SPANISH ARABIANS THE CRU- 
SADES THE TALE OF THE CRUSADER AND THE KING OF HUNGARY 

THE ENGLISH GESTA THE TALE OF THE KING OF ROME AND HIS 

THREE DAUGHTERS. 

ADMITTING the east as the immediate source of fic- 
tion," said Henry Herbert, when they were met once 
more, "you must still regard the Spanish Arabians 
as the great disseminators of those extravagant in- 
ventions which were so peculiar to their romantic and 
creative genius." 

"Less, perhaps, than many other sources. The absence of 
Moorish subjects from the earliest tales of chivalry, if it proves no 
more, at least shews how prevalent the tales of Charlemagne and his 
peers were in the eighth century, that a nation of conquerors could 
do little to infect them with legends of their own." 

" How and when, then, Lathom, would you introduce eastern 
invention?" asked Thompson. 

" I would refer it to much earlier ages, to the earliest of the 
Christian centuries, and contend that it was gradual, and therefore 
more natural ; was the production of times and of ages, not the 
sudden birth and growth of one age ; gradually augmenting until 
it attained to full and perfect stature." 

"Still," rejoined Herbert, "we want the means by which this 
knowledge of eastern fable was introduced." 

" Some share may be due to the return of those primitive Chris- 
tians who sought refuge in the east from the persecutions of the 
pagan rulers of the west. Their minds were well prepared to adopt 
the fervent expressions of the east, and their condition prevented 
them from investigating the tales they heard. Hence, in the lives of 
these saints they were as ready to interweave the prodigies of another 
land ; hoping, perhaps, to conciliate the minds cf the eastern orientals 
to the tenets of their faith, by introducing fictitious incidents of ori- 



32 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

ental structure ; as, to conciliate the heathen, they placed their gods 
and goddesses in the Christian temple, dignifying them with a new 
name, and serving them with novel ceremonies." 

" Admitting the probability, still your machinery seems deficient." 

" It is but a portion of my machinery. Much more was due to 
the monks, who, during the third and fourth centuries, wandered 
over the face of the habitable world." 

" When Gibbon admits that the progress of monachism was co- 
extensive with that of Christianity," suggested Frederick Thompson. 

" The disciples of Antony," said Herbert, " we are assured, 
spread themselves beyond the tropic, over the Christian empire of 
Ethiopia." 

" Their distribution was universal," said Lathom ; " every pro- 
vince, almost every city of the empire, had its ascetics ; they feared 
no dangers, and deemed no seas, mountains, or deserts, a barrier to 
their progress. 

" * The roving character of the monks, therefore,' says the last 
translator of the Gesta, ' is another link of the chain by which I 
introduce oriental fiction into the west ; and it is utterly impossible 
(maturely weighing the habits and propensities of this class of 
people) that they should not have picked up and retained the floating 
traditions of the countries through which they passed. Some of the 
early romances, as well as the legends of the saints, were undoubt- 
edly fabricated in the deep silence of the cloister. Both frequently 
sprung from the warmth of fancy, which religious seclusion is so 
well suited to nourish ; but the former were adorned with foreign 
embellishments.' " 

" Did it ever occur to you," said Thompson, " that the story of 
Ulysses and Circe bears a wondrous likeness to that of Beder the 
prince of Persia and Giahme princess of Samandal, and that the 
voyages of Sinbad afford the counterpart of the Cyclops of the 
Odysei ?" 

" It would be but consistent with the reported travels of Homer, 
to allow an eastern origin to a portion of his fable," said Lathom. 

" After your banished Christians and roving monks," said Her- 
bert, "you would admit the Spanish Arabians." 

" As one means, certainly," replied Lathom ; " and after them 
the Crusaders." 

" It were almost superfluous," rejoined Herbert, " to allude to 



CH. III.] THE KNIGHT AND THE KING OF HUNGARY. 33 

the Crusades as further sources of romantic and didactic fiction. No 
one will dispute their right to a place in the system. About the 
period of the third crusade this kind of writing was at its height." 

"Undoubtedly," rejoined Lathom, "that age was the full tide of 
chivalry. Twenty years elapsed between that and the fourth and 
fifth expeditions into the east ; and nearly a generation passed before 
for the sixth and the last time, the wealth and blood of Europe was 
poured upon the plains of the east. Enough of money and life had 
been now spent to satisfy the most enthusiastic of the crusading 
body, and to check, if not to stem, the tide of popular feeling which 
had formerly run so strong in favour of the restoration of the sepul- 
chre and the holy city to the guardianship of the faithful. Time was 
now at last beginning to allay the an ti- Saracenic passion. With 
the decline of these remarkable expeditions romantic fiction began to 
be regarded. For though originally extraneous and independent, 
romantic fictions had of late years become incorporated with chivalry 
and its institutions, and, with them, they naturally fell into decay." 

"Come, come, we must break off this discussion," said Thomp- 
son, "or else we shall have no time to judge of Lathom's perform- 
ance this evening/' 

" The story I have selected to begin with," said the latter, " is one 
replete with eccentricity, and peculiarly characteristic of the age : 
it is entitled — 

Cjje Bmgfjt antt tf)e 2&wg of imngarp. 

There was a merry feast in the palace of Philonimus, the em- 
peror of Rome, and his fair child, the maiden Aglse, sat by his 
side, whilst a brave knight that loved the maiden dearly sat on 
the other hand of the emperor. For the knight was bound for 
Palestine, to aid in rescuing the holy city from the power of 
the infidels, and the emperor held a high festival in honour of 
that knight. 

The feast was over in the hall, and the knight led the 
maiden from beside her father's throne to the floor of the hall, 
and danced with her, whilst the king's minstrels played a mea- 
sure. And as he danced, the knight talked with the lady, and 
the lady talked with the knight, and often sighed she when he 
spoke of his voyage to the Holy Land, and the great deeds he 



34 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

would perform for the glory of God, and the love of the fair 
lady. Then said the knight, " Lady, fair lady ! to-morrow's 
dawn sees me on my way to Palestine, and for seven years I 
bind myself to fight for the holy city. Plight me, dearest, thy 
troth, that this seven years you take no other husband, and I 
will plight thee my troth that for that time I will take no wife ; 
and if this day seven years I come not again, then art thou free 
from my promise." 

The lady was pleased with the words of the knight, and 
they vowed their vow, the one to the other. 

Then sailed the knight for Palestine, and for years they 
wist not where he was. At length the king of Hungary came 
to the emperor's court, and he looked on the beauty of Aglse, 
and sought her of her father for his queen. And the emperor 
was glad ; for the king was a great and good king. Then said 
he, " So be it, if my daughter consent." 

And Aglse bowed her head, when the king of Hungary 
spoke to her, and said, " O lord the king, I am not free to be 
thy wife ; for lo, these six years past I vowed to marry no man, 
and lo, one year more remains of my vow ; until the end of 
which, I cannot accept the honour of my lord the king." 

Then said the father, " Since thou hast so vowed, I will not 
break thy vow. Wait, then, my lord, yet one year, and then 
my daughter shall be thy bride." 

So the king of Hungary returned to his kingdom. 
* ***** 

Aglse sat at her chamber-window, and looked out upon the 
road that led towards her father's palace. " Alas, alas," she 
said, " it wants but one day to complete the seven years of my 
vow ! To-morrow, my love promised to be with me again from 
the Holy Land. To-morrow the king of Hungary comes to claim 
me. Ah me, what shall I do ! if my love comes not, I must be 
the king's bride !" and she bent her face on her hand and wept 
sorely. 

As the day drew near, the king of Hungary prepared to 
seek his bride. A great company was gathered together, and 
many waggons of presents were prepared to accompany the 



CH. III.] THE KNIGHT AND THE KING OF HUNGARY. 35 

king. But when he saw them, and how slowly they journeyed, 
he left all his company, and went his way alone, eager to claim 
Aglse as his bride, so soon as the seven years were ended. 
The king was royally arrayed in purple, and his steed was 
clothed in gorgeous trappings. Now, as he drew nigh to Rome, 
a knight rode after him, who was covered from head to foot in 
a long black cloak, and bore on his shoulder a white embroi- 
dered cross. " Hail, sir knight," said the king, " whither 
travellest thou ? what news from the Holy Land ?" 

" To Rome, my lord," rejoined the knight, halting his steed 
alongside of the king's, " the Cross has gained the victory." 

" Thither, too, do I travel, sir knight ; I am the king of 
Hungary, I go to seek my bride, the emperor's fair daughter ; 
I pray thee bear me company on the road." 

The knight acceded to the king's proposal ; and as they 
journeyed, they talked of the holy war in Palestine, and re- 
joiced that the city of the holy sepulchre was free from the 
power of the Saracens. As they thus talked together, the sky 
became cloudy, the wind howled through the woods, and the 
rain fell so fast, that the king's apparel was wet through. 

" My lord," said the knight, "ye have done foolishly, in 
that ye have not brought your house with you." 

" My house, sir knight ! how meanest thou ? my house is 
large and broad, made of stones and mortar ; how should I 
bring with me my house ? thou art beside thyself, sir knight !" 

But the knight said nothing until they came to the bank 
of a broad stream, into which the king, being out of humour, 
plunged his horse, at the same time striking his spurs deeply 
into him ; so he missed the ford, and would have been drowned 
but for the knight's help. 

"My lord," said the knight, when they were safe on the 
river's bank, "thou shouldst have brought thy bridge with 
thee." 

" My bridge !" said the king ; " how strangely thou speakest, 
sir knight : my bridge is made of stones and mortar, and is 
half a mile long, and yet thou sayest, why have I not my 
bridge ? thou art foolish, sir knight." 



36 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" Perhaps," replied the knight, " my folly may turn thee to 
wisdom." 

And as they rode on, the king asked of the knight what 
hour of the day it was. 

"For those that are hungry," replied the knight, "it is 
time to eat ; dismount, therefore, my lord, and honour me by 
partaking of the food I have with me." 

So they both sat down under a tree, and ate of the food 
that was in the knight's wallet, and drank of the clear stream 
that ran beside them. When their meat was finished, and they 
were once more mounted, the knight said : 

" king, why didst thou not bring with thee thy father 
and thy mother ?" 

" My father, sir knight, is dead, and my mother is old and 
cannot travel ; how, then, could I bring them ? Verily, thou 
art the most foolish man that I did ever meet with." 

" That is as it may be," said the knight with a smile ; 
" every thing is judged by its end. Now, O king, farewell ! 
I may not ride with thee to the emperor's palace ; thither lies 
thy road, farewell." 

" But stay, sir knight," said the king, " whither ridest 
thou, then V 

" Seven years ago, I left a net in a place, and now I go to 
see. If I find it not broken, then will I take it home and keep 
it as a precious jewel ; if it be broken, I will leave it to thee. 
O king, once more, farewell." 

So speaking, the knight turned away from the high road, 
and w r ent by a shorter way towards Rome, to the emperor's 
palacs. The king rode upon the highway. Now, as the king 
drew near to Rome, one of the emperor's servants met him, and 
went and told the emperor, how that the king of Hungary was 
riding all alone towards the city, and was wet and weary with 
his journey. Then the emperor set out to meet the king, and 
received him royally, and took his wet clothes off him, and 
clothed him with his own imperial robes. Then the trumpets 
sounded to dinner, and the emperor and the king descended to 
the hall ; but Aglee was not there, for she kept her chamber, 



CH. III.] THE KNIGHT AND THE KING OF HUNGARY. 37 

and her father refused her not, as it was the last day of her 
seven years' vow. 

" Brother," said the emperor, as soon as the meats were re- 
moved from the table, " I pray thee tell me of thy journey." 

Then the king told him how he left his own company to 
come after, and fell in with the crusader on his journey, and 
how he was dressed, and what he said as they rode together. 

" Surely," said the emperor, " that knight was a wise man ; 
for the house of which he spoke was thy cloak ; the bridge was 
thy squire, that should have ridden before thee to try the depth 
of the stream ; and what was thy father and mother, save bread 
and wine, which thou shouldest have brought with thee ? But 
why did he leave thee ?" 

" When we came where two roads met," rejoined the king, 
" he left me, saying, that seven years since he left a net in a 
private place, and he went to see whether it were broken or 
not, that he might treasure it as a jewel if it were unbroken, 
and if broken, resign it to me." 

Then the emperor cried with a loud voice, " Ho ! my 
knights and servants, go ye to my daughter's chamber." 

So the knights and servants went, and found not the lady, 
for her lover had stolen her away while the kings dined. 

" Even so as I expected," said the emperor ; " brother, the 
knight's folly has taught thee wisdom." 

" Yea, brother," rejoined the king sorrowfully, " truly said 
the knight, every deed is judged by its end." 

So the king returned to Hungary ashamed ; and when the 
knight and the maiden returned to her father, his heart yearned 
towards her, and he wept over her, and received them with joy. 



" This last tale," said Lathom, as soon as he had concluded his 
manuscripts, " comes not from the old Latin books, but from what 
is called the English Gesta." 

"An imitation of the original, I suppose," said Thompson. 

'* So thought that antiquarian, Mr. Douce," replied Lathom. 

" Is it not natural, that a work so remarkable as this old Latin 



38 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

Gesta seems to have been, should have stimulated some person to 
compose a similar work for this country?" suggested Herbert. 

" If the English version was not intended for the same work as 
the original, it is difficult to account for the striking- identity between 
the stories in each of the Gesta ; whilst the differences between the 
two works is in no respect greater than is consistent with that great 
latitude which the old transcribers and translators gave themselves." 

" It is, therefore, Lathom, in your opinion, as much an original 
work as Donne's Satires modernised by Pope, or Horace's Art of 
Poetry translated by Roscommon," said Thompson. 

" Yes, or as Dr. Johnson's version of the Tenth Satire of Ju- 
venal." 

"We must be thinking of adjourning," said Herbert, as the 
college-clock began to strike eight. 

" Or we may find ourselves inscribed among St. Peter's mad- 
men," said Lathom. 

" St. Peter's madmen — who were they ?" exclaimed Herbert and 
Thompson together. 

" Five men St. Peter deemed to be madmen," rejoined their host. 
"One ate the sand of the sea so greedily that it ran out of his 
mouth: verily he was the covetous man of this world. The next 
madman stood over a pit filled with sulphur and pitch, and strove to 
inhale the noxious vapour that rose from the burning mass : he was 
the glutton and debauchee. A third lay on a burning furnace, and 
endeavoured to catch the sparks that rose from it, that he might 
feast on them : for he was rich, and would have fed on gold, though 
it would have been his death. The next lunatic sat on the pinnacle 
of the temple, with his mouth open to catch the wind ; for he was a 
hypocrite : whilst the last madman devoured every finger and toe of 
his own he could get into his mouth, and laughed at others ; for he 
was a calumniator of the good, and devoured his own kind.''" 

"And the sixth stayed up to read in a Christmas vacation," sug- 
gested Thompson. 



CHAPTER IV. 

MODERN CONVERSIONS OF THE OLD TALES THE THREE BLACK CROWS 

KING LEAR THE MERCHANT OF VENICE EASTERN ORIGIN OF 

THE INCIDENT OF THE THREE CASKETS. 

;f,HAT a mine must these tales of the old monks have 

//--- . ; ^i\Y\j been to writers of every age!" said Herbert, as the 
|||M^gW/J friends returned to their old book for the fourth 

' ' The purloiners of gems from their writings have 
been innumerable, and of all ages. Gower, Lydgate, Chaucer, Shak- 
speare, of olden days; and in our own times, Parnell, Schiller, Scott, 
and Southey have been indebted to the didactic fictions of the old 
monks for many a good plot, and many an effective incident." 

" As the old monks themselves were indebted to the earlier 
legends of other lands, the traditions of their own convent, or the 
meagre pages of an old chronicle." 

" Even the veteran joker, Mr. Joe Miller, has been indebted to 
the Gesta for one of his standard tales," said Lathom ; " the Three 
Black Crows dates back to the middle ages. The moral, however, 
was hardly so fpolite as that now attached to the story ; for the 
monk boldly headed his tale with this inscription, 

Of women who not only betray secrets but lie fearfully." 

" Pray let us hear the original Joe Miller,'' said Thompson. 
*' Here, then, you have," replied Lathom, "the original 

Tale that will raise the question, I suppose, 
What can the meaning be of three black crows ?" 



€f)e Cljrct 23Iack Crofos. 

Once upon a time there lived two brothers, the one a cleric, 
the other a layman. The former was always saying that no 
woman could keep a secret; and as his brother was married, 



40 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

he bade him test the truth of this assertion on his own wife. 
The layman agreed ; and one night, when they were alone, he 
said, with a sorrowful face, to his spouse : 

" My dear wife, a most dreadful secret hangs over me; 
oh, that I could divulge it to you ; but no, I dare not ; you 
never could keep it, and, if once divulged, my reputation is 
gone." 

" Fear not, love," rejoined the wife ; " are we not one body 
and one mind ? is not your advantage my benefit, and your 
injury my loss ?" 

" Well, then," said the husband, " when I left my room 
this morning, a deadly sickness came upon me ; and after 
many a pang, a huge black crow flew out of my mouth, 
and, winging its way from the room, left me in fear and trem- 
bling." 

" Is it possible ?" asked the wife; "yet why should you 
fear, my life ? be thankful rather that you have been freed 
from so noxious and troublesome an occupant." 

Here the conversation ended. As soon as it was day, up 
got the wife, with her thoughts full of the black crow, and 
hastened to a neighbour's house. 

" Dearest friend," said she, " can I trust you with a se- 
cret ?" 

" As with your life," rejoined the confidant. 

" Oh, such a marvellous accident happened to my hus- 
band !" 

" What ? what ?" asked the anxious friend. 

" Only last night, he felt deadly sick, and, after a great 
deal of pain, two black crows flew out of his mouth, and took 
wing from the room." 

Away went the wife home, with her mind disburdened of 
the awful secret ; whilst her friend hastened to her next neigh- 
bour, and retailed the story, only with the addition of one more 
crow. The next edition of the legend rose to four ; and at 
last, when the story had gone round the gossips of the village, 
a flock of forty crows were reported to have flown from the 
poor man's mouth ; and there were not a few who remembered 



CH. IV.] THE EMPEROR OF ROME AND BIS THREE DAUGHTERS. 41 

seeing the black legion on the wing from the man's window. 
The consequence of all this was, that the poor husband found 
himself saddled with the very questionable reputation of a wiz- 
ard, and was obliged to call together the village, and explain 
to them the true origin of the fable. On this his wife and her 
confidants were overwhelmed with ridicule and shame, and the 
men of the village were the more impressed with the truth of 
the cleric's maxim. 



"Did the old monk attempt a further interpretation of his un- 
gallant fable?" asked Herbert. 

"Undoubtedly," replied Lathom. "The unfortunate husband 
typified the worldly man, who, thinking to do one foolish act with- 
out offence, falls into a thousand errors, and has, at last, to purge 
his conscience by a public confession." 

But let us now pass on to Shakspeare. King Lear dates back to 
the Gesta. Theodosius of Rome occupies the place of the British 
king, his child Theodosia is Shakspeare's Cordelia. 

Cfje (Emperor of &ome antJ i)te €f)m Baup^ters. 

Theodosius was emperor of Rome, mighty in power, and 
wise in counsel. He had no son, but three daughters whom 
he loved exceedingly. Now when they were come of full 
age, the emperor called unto him the eldest, and said : " How 
much lovest thou me ?" 

" More than mine own self," replied the eldest. 

" It is good," rejoined her father ; " thou shalt be rewarded 
for thy love." So he married her unto a neighbouring king, 
of great power and wealth. 

Then he sent for his second daughter, and asked her the 
same question. 

"Even as I do myself," was the reply. 

At this the emperor was well pleased, and he kissed his 
child, and said : "I will reward thee for this thy love." 

So he married her unto one of the greatest nobles of his 
realm. 



42 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

At last he sent for his youngest daughter ; and when she 
was come into his presence, he asked her likewise how much 
she loved him. 

Theodosia bowed her head, and bent her knee to her father, 
as she mildly replied, " Even as my father deserveth." 

Then was the emperor hurt with her reply, and he said, 
" Lovest thou me no more than this ? thy reward shall be less 
than thy sisters'." So he married her unto a poor but good 
lord, who was one of the lesser nobles of his kingdom. 

Time passed away, misfortune came upon the emperor, and 
his kingdom was all but taken from him by the king of Egypt. 
Then said he to himself, " I will appeal to my children ;" so he 
w T rote to his eldest daughter for aid. 

"My lord the king, I have here a letter from my father," 
said the eldest daughter to her husband ; "he asketh help of 
us in his misfortunes." 

" Is it not just that we should aid him ?" replied the king ; 
"we will raise an army, and go and fight for him." 

" Nay, my lord," rejoined his wife, " consider the expense ; 
send my father five knights to keep him company in his wan- 
derings." 

" Alas, alas," said the aged emperor when he read his 
eldest child's answer, " in her was my chief trust ; she, that 
loved me more than herself, hath done only this much ; how, 
then, shall I trust the other two ?" 

Then wrote he to the second daughter, who, when she 
read her father's letter, advised her husband to grant him food, 
lodging, and raiment, during the time of his need. The em- 
peror was sore grieved at this reply. " Now have I tried my 
two daughters, and have found them wanting : let me try the 
third ;" so he wrote to his youngest child. 

When the messenger brought the emperor's letter to Theo- 
dosia, she wept sorely as she read how that her father was 
driven from his capital, and was become a wanderer in his own 
kingdom. Then went she to her husband, and said : 

" Oh, my dear lord, by thy love towards me, succour me in 
this great distress : my father is driven from his capital by the 



CH. IV.] THE EMPEROR OF ROME AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS. 43 

king of Egypt, and even now wanders up and down his own 
kingdom, homeless and unattended." 

"As thou wiliest, Theodosia," replied the noble, " so will 
I do." 

" Gather, then, a great army ; raise again my father's ban- 
ner ; and go, my lord, fight for my father's throne, and under 
God's blessing thou shalt conquer." 

Gladly the noble obeyed the wishes of his wife; gladly 
did he summon his retainers and friends, and raise the royal 
standard. His example was all that was required; numbers 
flocked to the royal standard, for they w T ished well to the em- 
peror, but lacked a leader. Then led he his forces against 
the king of Egypt, and long and fierce was the battle ; but at 
length the emperor's friends prevailed, the Egyptian was driven 
from the land, and the emperor reseated on his throne. It was 
a happy day for his people when Theodosius reascended his 
throne : round him stood all his nobles, and on his right hand 
his youngest daughter, and on his left her noble husband, to 
whom he was indebted for his restoration. Before his footstool 
stood his other children and their husbands, and sought to do 
him homage. But the emperor forbade them, and turning to 
his nobles, he said : 

" The child that loved me but as I deserved, hath succoured 
me in this my time of trouble ; the twain that professed to love 
me more abundantly, have failed in the trial God ordained to 
them and to me. I pray ye, my nobles and knights, to ratify 
this my wish. When I die, let the kingdom pass to her and 
to her husband, for she succoured her father and her country ; 
but for these other two, let them go hence." 

And the nobles and knights, with one accord, said, " It is 
well said ; be it so." 



" Is the Merchant of Venice among the list of plots borrowed 
from the Gesta?" asked Herbert. 

"It is inscribed as a debtor to two tales ; to the one for the 
incident of the Bond, to the other for that of the Three Caskets." 

" I thought," said Frederick Thompson, " the incident of Shy- 



44 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

lock's bond came from the Italian of Fiorentino, a novelist of the 
fourteenth century." 

" It is found there, and is generally translated from his work in 
the preface to the play; but is also found, in almost the same words, 
in the English Gesta, in the story of Selestinus, the Wise Emperor, 
who had a Fair Daughter." 

" You claim also the incident of the Three Caskets." 

" I claim one form of it for the old monks in the story of the 
Carpenter and the Owner of the Lost Treasure, and another form 
in the tale found in the English Gesta of the emperor Anselmus." 

" What is the legend of the Carpenter?" asked Herbert. 

" He is supposed to have found some gold, and to be doubting 
whether he should restore it to its owner, whom chance had led to 
the carpenter's cottage in his inquiries after his lost treasure. To 
satisfy his mind, he makes three cakes ; one he fills with earth, 
another with bones, and the third has a piece of gold within it. On 
giving his guest the choice, the traveller is led by the weight to 
choose the one full of earth ; and claiming a portion of that con- 
taining bones, should the first not satisfy his hunger, he gives the 
lightest to his host. Thus convinced that the man does not deserve 
his lost treasure, the carpenter drives him from his hut, and dis- 
tributes the money to the poor." 

" This is but a slight hint," said Herbert; "the choice is ex- 
actly contrary to that of the play." 

" In the latter story, whether original or copied, the choice is 
identical with that in the Merchant of Venice. The moral the 
writer intended to read was the deceitfulness of outward appear- 
ances." 

" The old proverb," suggested Thompson, — " all is not gold that 
glitters." 

" I will read now the form of the story in the English Gesta." 

CIjc Calc of tlje Cljvce Castecte. 

Centuries have passed since Anselmus reigned in Rome, 
whose empress was the fair daughter of the king of Jerusalem, 
and gracious in the sight of every man. Long had they lived 
happily together, but were not blest with a child to comfort 
their lives, and to inherit their power and honours. And it 



CH. IV.] THE THREE CASKETS. 45 

came to pass that, as the emperor walked in his garden, he be- 
thought him of the constant wars of the king of Ampluy, his 
neighbour, who ceased not to trouble him, because he had no 
son to defend his dominions. And as he walked and mused, 
he looked on the moon, and fell into a trance, and dreamed a 
dream, how that the morning was very bright, and the moon 
looked paler on the one side than on the other. And then 
there flew towards him a bird of two colours ; two beasts came 
and stood by the bird, and warmed the little creature with their 
heat. And lo, other beasts, mighty and terrible, came and 
bowed themselves before the little bird, and went their way ; 
and then followed these many other birds of bright plumage 
and sweet song, and they sang pleasantly, and waked the em- 
peror. 

Anselmus was troubled with his dream, and he called for 
his wise men, his nobles, and his counsellors, and told them 
of his vision, and sought from them the interpretation of his 
dream. When the wise men, the nobles, and the counsellors 
had considered of these things, they spoke cheerfully unto the 
king. 

" Sire," said they, " the vision betokens good to the em- 
pire ; its glory shall be clearer than it is. The loss of colour 
in the moon prefigures the loss of strength to our empress 
when a child is born unto you. The little bird is this child, 
our prince. The two beasts that warmed him, are the good 
and the great of our empire, who will give of their substance to 
sustain and cherish their prince. And whilst the other nations, 
mighty and strong, shall bow down before him, as the beasts 
did in the vision, so shall our people rejoice and sing with ex- 
ceeding joy, as the birds sang sweetly and pleasantly in thy 
dream. Such, O king, is the interpretation of the vision." 

Exceeding glad was the emperor at these words ; and his 
joy was the more increased when a son was born unto him, 
according to the words of the wise men. 

When the king of Ampluy heard of the birth of the prince, 
he was afraid, remembering the wrong he had done to Ansel- 
mus, and foreseeing the vengeance he would experience from 



46 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

the prince when he should come of age and lead the armies of 
his father. So he turned his mind to peace, and wrote hum- 
bly unto the emperor. When Anselmus read the king's letter 
he replied in peaceful terms, and promised him his protection 
and friendship, if he would give securities for his conduct, and 
acknowledge his sovereignty by a small tribute. 

King Ampluy read the emperor's letter to his council, and 
prayed their counsel as touching the matter. Then said the 
counsellors, " The emperor's words are good, and to be obeyed. 
As for the surety that he asks, is there not to our lord one 
daughter, a maiden fair and goodly withal ; and is there not 
to the emperor one son, a noble prince ? Contract, therefore, 
marriage between thy child and his, that there may be a per- 
petual peace." 

The king obeyed the advice of his counsellors ; he wrote 
their words unto the emperor, who received them gladly, and 
the marriage -contract was signed. 

So the king sent his child by sea to the emperor's court. 
The ship was a great ship, with fair masts and able pilots, 
glittering with gay pennants and costly ornaments, and it bore 
a goodly company of nobles, knights, and titled dames, with 
many and rich presents to do honour to the marriage of the 
maiden and the prince. 

And it came to pass that as they sailed towards Rome, a 
storm rose, and drove the ship hither and thither over the 
waves, until she brake against a rock, and sank into the waters. 
And all they that were in her were drowned, save the daughter 
of the king, who put her trust in God and was saved. At 
length the storm abated, and the ship, broken and helpless, 
rose from beneath the waves and floated. But, lo, a great 
whale followed after the ship to swallow up it and the maiden. 
So the maiden struck a light, and lighted a fire, that terrified 
the whale, which dared not to approach the ship for fear of 
the fire. At break of day she fell asleep, for she was weary 
of watching ; "and as she slept, the fire ceased for want of fuel, 
and the whale came and devoured the maiden. 

When she awoke, darkness was around her on every side, 



CH. IV.] THE THREE CASKETS. 47 

for she was in the belly of the whale ; but she feared not, but 
struck with the stone until the fire came, and thrust with a 
knife into the sides of the whale, so that he made towards the 
shore, for he felt that he was wounded. 

In that country dwelt a noble, a servant of the emperor, who, 
for his recreation, walked on the shore at the time the whale 
was making towards the land. When he saw the monster, he 
turned homeward, summoned his servants, and returning to 
the shore, fought with the whale until it was sore wounded, 
and like to die. And even as they smote the fish, the maiden 
cried with a loud voice from within the whale : 

" Mercy, gentle friends, mercy on me ; for I am a king's 
daughter." 

Wondering greatly at these words, the noble hauled the 
fish ashore, and opening the side of the whale, released the lady 
from her prison. And when he heard her story, he pitied her 
sore, and took her to his own castle to comfort her until he 
could convey her to the court of the emperor. 

When Anselmus heard of the maiden's safety, he rejoiced 
greatly, and came to her, and had compassion on her. 

" Fair maiden," said the emperor, " sorely as thou hast 
been tried, and great woe as thou hast suffered for the love of 
my son, still must thou endure another trial ere thou be pro- 
claimed worthy to be his wife. Let the caskets be brought 
hither." 

Then the king's servants brought three caskets. The first 
was of pure gold, richly set about with precious stones ; but 
within was full of dead men's bones. On this was inscribed, 

'* WHOSO CHOOSETH ME SHALL FIND WHAT HE DESERVETH." 

The second casket was made of fine silver, filled with earth and 
worms, and its inscription was, '■ whoso chooseth me shall 

FIND THAT HIS NATURE DESIRETH." But the last Vessel Was 

made of lead, and without was dull and useless ; but within 
were precious stones. On this casket was written, " whoso 

CHOOSETH ME SHALL FIND THAT WHICH GOD HATH DISPOSED 
FOR HIM," 

Then said the emperor, " Maiden, look on these three ves- 



48 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

sels, they be rich vessels ; if thou choose that wherein is profit 
to thee and to others, then thou shalt marry my son ; but if 
thou choose that in which is no profit to thee or to others, 
then in peace return to thy father." 

The king's daughter lifted up her hands to God, and prayed 
for his grace in the hour of her trial. First she looked upon 
the golden casket, and as she read the words of its inscription, 
she said, " Full precious and gay art thou, O casket, but I 
know not what is within ; therefore, dear lord, I choose not 
this." 

Then looked she on the silver casket and its inscription, 
"Whoso chooseth me shall find that which his nature de- 
sireth." " Alas," said the maiden, "I know not what is 
herein ; but this I know, that I shall therein find that which 
my nature desireth, even the wickedness of the flesh. Casket 
of silver, I will have none of thee." 

Lastly she looked on the leaden casket. 

" Poor art thou, O casket, to look upon, and yet thy in- 
scription giveth comfort ; thou promisest ' that which God 
hath disposed ;' and God never disposeth any thing harmful ; 
by His permission, I take thee, O casket." 

Then cried the emperor, " Well done, thou fair and good 
maiden ; open thy casket, for it is full of precious gifts. Well 
hast thou chosen." 

Then appointed he the day of the wedding ; and the maiden 
and the prince were married with great solemnity, and with 
much honour among all the nations lived they until their 
lives' end. 



" Your title is, I think, perfected," said Herbert. 

" And yet there are those that can put in an earlier claim/' said 
Lathom. 

" An earlier claim ! how far back, then, would you carry it ?" 

" Nearly to the eighth century ; one link between the east and 
the west. Damascenus, the Greek monk, in the spiritual romance 
of Barlaam and Josaphat, relates that Barlaam commanded four chests 



CH. IV.] THE THREE CASKETS. 49 

to be made, two covered with gold, and two overlaid with pitch, and 
bound with common cords ; in the former he placed dead men's 
bones ; in the latter, jewels, gold, and precious ointments. He then 
gave his courtiers the choice ; and when they chose the golden cof- 
fers, the king said, ' I anticipated your decision, for ye look with 
the eyes of sense. To discern the good or evil that lies within, we 
must look with the eyes of the mind/ Then he opened the chests, 
and shewed his courtiers their error." 

" It is that kind of tale that would be most acceptable to all 
writers," said Herbert. 

" The general use they have made of it, in one form or other, is 
evidence of its popularity. Boccaccio has dressed it up under the 
story of the King and Signor Rogiero ; and Gower has versified it, 
filling the unlucky chest with earth, stones, and rubbish, instead of 
men's bones. To-morrow evening I will give you some more in- 
stances of this kind of conversion of the old monks' stories." 




CHAPTER V. 

THE PROBABLE AUTHOR OF THE GESTA MODERN CONVERSIONS 

PARNELL'S HERMIT THE POETS' IMPROVEMENTS SCHILLER'S 

FRIDOLIN IRVING's VISION IN THE MUSEUM THE CLAIMS OF THE 

OLD WRITERS ON THE NEW. 

j]N what nation have the antiquaries endeavoured to fix 
the authorship of these tales ?" inquired Herbert. 

" Here doctors disagree : Wharton contends for a 
Poitevin prior of the Benedictine convent of St. Eloi 
at Paris ; whilst Douce argues for ' a German origin, 
because in the moralisation attached to one tale there is a German 
proverb, and in another the names of some dogs are partly German, 
partly Saxon." 

" Might not this arise from the pen of a translator or adapter?" 
suggested Thompson. 

" More than probably it did. The fact of the scenes in one or 
two of the tales being laid in England, may tend to shew that the 
copy in which they appear was prefaced by a writer of that country ; 
as the introduction of the German proverb would lead us to suppose 
that the editor of that copy was a German." 

"Is it not probable," said Herbert, "that this book may have 
been a mere collection of the popular tales of the age in which it was 
written, confined to no particular country, drawn from every avail- 
able source ; thus leaving to the reputed author the task of arrange- 
ment and transcription, rather than of origination?" 

" It is now useless to endeavour to determine this point ; as in 
the history of fiction it is far more easy to upset prior theories than 
to set up new ones," replied Lathom. 

" Whose conversions, as you kindly denominate them, do you 
propose illustrating this evening?" asked Thompson. 

" Parnell and Schiller," rejoined Lathom ; " the lay of the Her- 
mit, and the ballad of Fridolin. We will begin with Parnell." 



51 



Cf)e ^tigel anti tfje Hermit. 

Far in a wild unknown to public view, in a cell which he had 
hollowed out with his own hands, on the edge of an open 
down, from youth to age a reverend hermit grew. The neigh- 
bouring lord's shepherd was wont to feed his sheep on the 
short but sweet pasture of the hermit's down. 

One day the poor shepherd, fatigued with watching, fell 
asleep, and a robber came and stole the lord's flock. When 
he awoke, he discovered the loss, and stoutly maintained that 
the sheep had been stolen ; but the lord would not believe the 
shepherd, and commanded him to be put to death. 

The hermit saw the deed, and thus communed with him- 
self : " Merciful God, seest thou what this man hath done, and 
how the innocent suffers for the guilty ? Why permittest thou 
these things ? If injustice is to triumph, why remain I here ? 
Verily, I will re-enter the world, and do as other men do." 

Impressed with these thoughts, the hermit left his cell, and 
wandered back to the world and the abodes of men ; and on 
his way, an angel, sent from God, met him, and being in the 
form of a traveller, he joined himself to the hermit, and asked 
him which way he journeyed. 

" To the city that lieth before us," rejoined the hermit. 

" I will accompany you," replied his companion ; "I am 
an angel sent from God to be the associate of your wander- 
ings." 

So they walked onwards to the city. When they entered 
the gates, they sought the house of a soldier, and entreated 
him, by God's love, to give them harbourage during the night. 
The veteran complied with cheerfulness, and spared not of the 
best of his substance for the entertainment of the travellers. 
The hospitable soldier had but one child, an infant in the cradle. 
And so it happened, that when supper was ended, the veteran 
lighted the guests to his best chamber, and the angel and the 
hermit retired to rest. About midnight the hermit awoke, and 
saw the angel rise from the bed, enter the chamber where the 
infant slept, and strangle it with his own hands. 



52 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" Surely," said the hermit to himself, " this cannot be an 
angel of God ; did not the good soldier give us every thing 
that we required ? and now, lo, the only child that he had is 
slain by this his guest." And yet he feared to reprove his 
companion. 

With the morning, the hermit and the angel arose, and 
sought a neighbouring city, where they found a hospitable 
reception in the house of one of its chief persons. This man 
had a valuable drinking-cup of gold, which the angel purloined 
during the night : but the hermit yet was silent, for he feared 
more than he doubted. On the morrow the travellers con- 
tinued their journey, and on their way they came to a river, 
over which was a bridge thrown. They ascended the bridge, 
and met, midway, a poor and aged pilgrim. 

"My friend," said the angel to the old man, "shew us 
the way to yonder city." 

As the pilgrim turned him to shew the angel the road, he 
seized him by the shoulders, and cast the old man headlong 
into the river that ran beneath. 

"Alas, alas!" cried the hermit to himself, "it is the evil 
one himself. Why, what evil had the poor man done ?" and 
yet, with all his thoughts, the hermit feared to give utterance 
to his fears. 

About the hour of vespers the travellers reached another 
city, in which they sought shelter for the night ; but the 
master of the house refused them rudely. 

" For the love of heaven," said the angel, " spare us of thy 
house for shelter against the wolves and other wild beasts." 

" That," rejoined the man, "is my pigsty; lie ye there if 
it so please ye ; for ye come no other whither." 

" Necessity," replied the angel, "forces us to accept your 
ungracious offer." 

On the morrow the angel called the host, and said, "Friend, 
I give you this goblet," presenting to him the cup he had 
stolen from his former host. 

" Now," said the hermit, " know I that this is no angel ; 
doth he not reward evil for good, and good for evil? No 



CH. V.] THE ANGEL AND THE HERMIT. 53 

longer will I travel with you : fare thee well, I commend thee 
to God." 

" Dear friend," rejoined the angel, "hear me ere you de- 
part. Whilst thou wert in thy hermitage, the lord of the flock 
unjustly slew his careless but innocent servant. For his in- 
nocence he will be in a fit state to enter another world ; but had 
he lived, he would have fallen into sin, and died before repent- 
ance could have followed. Eternal punishment shall follow 
them who stole the sheep ; but repentance and acts of faith 
shall repair the error which the owner of the flock committed 
in his ignorance. Truly the soldier was hospitable, but he 
loved his son overmuch ; ere then he was charitable and mer- 
ciful, but on the birth of his child he grew parsimonious and 
covetous, that he might leave a fortune to his son. With his 
child's death hath returned his Christian virtues to his parent. 
Before that cup was made, which I stole from our host who 
owned it, there was not a more abstemious person in this world; 
but with that cup came the love of indulgence and inebriety. 
I took away the temptation, and our host is once more ab- 
stemious. Again, I cast the poor pilgrim into the river. He 
whom I drowned was a good Christian ; but had he proceeded 
farther, he would have fallen into mortal sin : now he is saved 
and is reigning in heaven. Neither did I bestow the cup on 
the unhospitable citizen without reason : he gave us his swine's 
house ; he has received his reward— the temptation of gluttony 
and pleasure. Guard, therefore, thy lips ; detract not from the 
Almighty ; to Him all things are known." 

At these words the hermit fell at the feet of the angel, and 
besought his pardon. It was acceded to him ; and he returned 
to his hermitage a wiser and a better Christian. 



'* Admitting, of course, the identity of the main incidents, Par- 
nell must have the credit of heightening those he has used with many 
masterly touches of poetic colouring, and of a happier arrangement 
of circumstances," said Herbert, who had been following the story 
in the poet's works. 

" Many indeed are the proofs of his genius and address in the 
v 2 



54 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

treatment of the subject," said Lathorn. "And no one more strik- 
ing than his delaying the discovery of the angelic nature of the 
visitant until the close of the story, and thus introducing a beauti- 
ful description and interesting surprise." 
" Read us the part," said Thompson. 

" It is where the angel has just thrown the guide into the 
river — 

' Wild, sparkling rage inflames the hermit's eyes, 

He burst the bands of fear, and madly cries : 

Detested wretch! — but scarce his speech began, 

When the strange partner seem'd no longer man. 

His youthful face grew more serenely sweet ; 

His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet ; 

Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair ; 

Celestial odours breathe through purple air ; 

And wings, whose colours glitter' d on the day, 

Wide at his back their gradual plumes display. 

The form ethereal bursts upon his sight, 

And moves in all the majesty of light.' " 

" Do you suppose that the Gesta was known to the poet ?" asked 
Frederick Thompson. 

" Hardly : he is far more likely to have taken the incidents of 
his poem from the Divine Dialogues of the Platonist Moore, who 
affixes to his version of the tale some reflections well worth reading. 
'The affairs of this world,' says the Platonist, 'are like a curious but 
intricately contrived comedy ; and we cannot judge of the tendency 
of what is past, or acting at present, before the entrance of the last 
act, which shall bring in righteousness in triumph ; who, though she 
hath abided many a brunt, and has been very cruelly and despite- 
fully used hitherto in the world, yet at last, according to our desires, 

we shall see the knight overcome the giant But impatiently 

to call for vengeance upon every enormity before that time, is rudely 
to overturn the stage before the entrance of the fifth act, out of ig- 
norance of the plot of the comedy ; and to prevent the solemnity of 
the general judgment, by more paltry and particular executions.' " 

" Thanks for the old Platonist's remarks," said Herbert. " I 
could have wished them more elaborate, were not Schiller's Fridolin 
waiting for the conclusion of them, to come upon our stage." 

" I will give you, then, one form of Schiller's ballad." 



55 



dfulgentiiui anti tl;e mi&tH ^tefoarlf. 

When Martin was emperor of Rome, his uncle Malitius 
was steward of his household, and his nephew Fulgentius, his 
only sister's son, an orphan, was his constant attendant, his 
cupbearer at meals, and his page of his chamber. For Martin 
loved his nephew, and was kind to him ; and regarded him as 
his own child, for he was not a father. Malitius hated this 
Fulgentius ; seeing that if he should succeed to the kingdom, 
his own son would lose that crown which he had so long 
regarded as his by right of inheritance. Day and night he 
thought how he might cause Martin to discard Fulgentius. 

" My lord," said he, with a face of assumed distress, one 
day to the emperor, "it is with great pain, my lord, that I 
speak unto you ; but in that I am thy true servant, it is my 
duty to warn my sovereign of any thing that lessens his honour 
and repute." 

" Speak on," said the emperor. 

" Will my lord," rejoined the steward with apparent 
anxiety, " keep what I shall tell him a secret between him 
and me ?" 

" If thou wishest it, Malitius," said the emperor. 

" Oh, my dear lord, how ungrateful is the world !" began 
the steward. 

" Well, well, that is as it may be," rejoined the emperor; 
•* but to your secret ; the sun is rising high in the heavens, and 
my horses wait me." 

" Your nephew Fulgentius — " 

" Ha !" said Martin, " Fulgentius ; what of him ?" 

" I grieve to say, my lord, he most ungratefully defames 
you among his companions, speaking ill of your habits, and 
especially of your breath, and saying that it is death to him 
to serve you." 

" If I could but prove this," muttered the emperor. 

" Remark him, my lord, when he next serves you with the 
cup ; and if he turns away his head when he gives you the 



5 6 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

goblet, be sure that he so accuses, and thus endeavours to 
make the bystanders believe that his accusation is true." 

" It is well," replied the emperor; "go, good Malitius ; we 
will remember your advice." 

Then went the steward unto Fulgentius, and spoke kindly 
to him, and professed, as a friend and a near relative, to warn 
him how nearly he was about to lose the good wishes of 
Martin, and perhaps forfeit his succession to the throne. 

" Fulgentius, my dear relative," said he with a fawning 
smile, " thy breath is sadly displeasing to the emperor, and he 
talks of removing you from near attendance on his person." 

" O good sir," replied the youth, " can this be true ?" 

"Alas! I fear it is so. I have experienced it myself; 
but be sure it is merely temporary ill health, it will soon 
pass off." 

" And before then, I shall have lost my uncle's good 
opinion. What shall I do, Malitius ?" 

" There is but one thing," replied the steward : " when jon 
hand the cup to the emperor, turn away your head from him ; 
then will he not be incommoded by your breath, and will see 
that you do your best to please him." 

"Thanks, good Malitius. Your advice has made me feel 
happy." 

"Thy happiness be thy ruin," muttered Malitius to him- 
self, as he turned away. 

That day Fulgentius attended on his uncle at dinner ; and 
as he handed to him the cup he held it far off, and turned 
away his face, lest he should distress the emperor. 

"Wretch!" cried the emperor, at the same time striking 
Fulgentius on the breast; " now know I that it is true what 
I have heard of thee ; go, go from my sight, thou varlet ! I 
thought to have made thee a king ; but now see my face no 
more." 

Sorely wept Fulgentius as he passed from the hall, amid 
the jeers and scoffs of his former companions ; for he was now 
disgraced, and they cared not for him. 

"Malitius," said the emperor, "let thy son supply the 



CH. V.] FULGENTIUS AND THE WICKED STEWARD. 57 

place of this ingrate. Come, my good lord, counsel me how 
I may rid myself of this varlet, that disgraces me before the 
world." 

" Sire, this would I propose : some miles from this city 
your workmen burn lime in a vast forge in the forest ; send to 
them this night, and bid them cast into their furnace whoever 
first comes to them to-morrow morning, and asks of them, 
' Have you performed the emperor's will ?' Call also Fulgen- 
tius to thee, and bid him early on the morrow go to the lime- 
burners, and ask them whether they have fulfilled your com- 
mands : then will they cast him into the fire, and his evil 
words will perish with him/' 

And the emperor did so. He bade Fulgentius be at the 
kilns before sunrise ; and that night sent a horseman to the 
lime-burners, bidding them burn the first man that on the 
morrow should inquire of them, whether they had performed 
the emperor's will. 

Long before sunrise, Fulgentius rose from his sleepless 
couch, and hastened to perform his uncle's commands, hoping 
by this means to regain the goodwill of the emperor. As he 
went on his way, with a heavy heart, and drew near to the 
wood within the depths of which the lime-burners dwelt, the 
sound of the matin bell of a neighbouring chapel arrested 
his steps. The tones of the bell seemed to bring peace to his 
troubled mind, and he turned from the path towards the way- 
side chapel, and offered up his prayers and thanksgivings to 
his God. But as the service was ending, the fatigue he had 
undergone disposed him to rest himself, so he sat himself 
down in the porch of the chapel, and fell asleep. 

" Poor child," said the good priest as he passed through 
the porch, "thou lookest wearied and careworn; sleep on, 
no one shall disturb thee." When he awoke, the sun was 
going down in the heaven. 

Malitius was as sleepless during the night as the poor 
youth, and his anxiety drove him early from his bed, and suf- 
fered him not to be at peace all the day. Now when it 
was noon the steward could no longer remain in the palace, 



58 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

but he hastened to the lime-kilns, and demanded of the lime- 
burners " whether they had performed the emperor's will." 

" Not yet," cried they with hoarse voices : " but no fear, 
master ; it shall be done forthwith." 

"With these words, one of the men seized Malitius, and 
hurried with him in his arms to the mouth of the kiln. 

" Mercy, mercy, good sirs," cried the steward ; " it is Ful- 
gentius you should burn, not me." 

"Ha, ha!" laughed the lime-burners; "we know neither 
thee nor Fulgentius ; thou art the first man that has come 
here this day and asked us, ' Whether we have done the em- 
peror's will:' so peace, man, peace. Ha, ha ! his will is done." 

So Malitius died in the fire. 

It was past noon when Fulgentius awoke, and the sun was 
going down in its course. 

" Alas, alas !" he said, " I have delayed to perform my 
lord's will." 

And he hastened through the wood, and came to the lime- 
kilns. 

"What wantest thou, boy?" asked the chief of the lime- 
burners. 

" Tell me, tell me, sirs," asked Fulgentius anxiously, u hast 
thou performed the command of the emperor ?" 

" Ay, my lad, right well ; come, look into the furnace, and 
see his bones yet burn." 

" His bones ! w T hose bones, sirs ?" asked Fulgentius, aghast 
with fear. 

Then they told him all that had been commanded them, 
and how Malitius coming first to the lime-kilns, had been cast 
into the fire and burnt. 

" Thanks be to God," said the youth, devoutly kneeling, 
"who hath saved me from this terrible death." With these 
words he bade the burners farewell, and returned to his 
uncle's palace. 

" Hah," said the emperor, when Fulgentius bowed himself 
before his uncle's throne, " thou here, sir varlet ; hast thou 
not been to my lime-burners ?" 



CH. V.] CLAIMS OF THE OLD WRITERS ON THE NEW. 59 

"Verily, my lord, I have been there and performed thy 
commandment ; bnt before I came your will had been per- 
formed." 

"Performed," rejoined the emperor, "how performed? 
Malitius ; is he not here ?" 

" No, my lord, he is burnt in the lime-kiln," replied the 
youth; "he came first to the kiln, and the burners obeyed 
your commands, and he is dead, and I have escaped. But, 
O my dear uncle, how couldest thou contrive such a death 
for thy poor nephew ?" and he wept bitterly. 

Then did they each declare to the other the deceits of the 
wicked steward ; and the emperor raised up the youth, and 
acknowledged him before all his people as his very true and 
good nephew, his heir and successor to the throne ; render- 
ing thanks to God, who had preserved the uncle from so 
deadly a sin against his relative, and the nephew from so 
horrible a death. 



"The German poet has been equally successful in his amend- 
ments with Parnell," said Herbert. 

"In none more so," said Thompson, "than in substituting, in 
the place of the unpleasant bodily affection, the more courtly failing 
of jealousy excited in the mind of the knight by the malice of the 
huntsman Robert." 

" Was it, then, from this old book, or from some similar tradition 
of his own country, that Schiller obtained his incidents?" asked 
Herbert. 

" It is impossible to determine : it is said that Schiller learnt 
his plot from an Alsatian legend that he heard at Manheim ; and 
yet the similarity of the incident renders it more than probable that 
the poet was acquainted with this form of the tale. The story as 
it appears in the monks' books, and the tradition of Alsatia, most 
probably started from the same original, which, being immediately 
written down by the monk, we now have in its primitive form. The 
tradition went on from mouth to mouth, and became gradually 
varied to suit the popular feelings." 

"Your instances of conversion, Lathom," said Thompson, "re- 



60 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

mind me of Washington Irving's vision in the library of the British 
Museum, when all the old writers leapt down from their shelves 
and despoiled the moderns of the patchwork garments, made of the 
shreds of countless writers, and left them plucked of their borrowed 
plumes." 

" Nay," replied Lathom, "rather of those few who had borrowed 
gems from the writers of old, and, by new setting and repolishing, so 
improved their original lustre, that the former owner was eager to 
tender his thanks to his modern adapter, who had renewed his long- 
lost glories." 

" I am afraid your old monks would have had as many to divest 
of their borrowed plumes, as to compliment on their ingenuity as 
working jewellers/' said Thompson. 

"The process of recovery would be curious in some cases," said 
Herbert : " the modern adapter would have to settle with Lydgate 
or Gower; the old poet would resign his title to the middle-age 
monk or chronicler ; and he perhaps be finally stripped of his gem 
by some eastern fabler." 

" Be sure that Shakspeare, Parnell, and Schiller would meet 
with more thanks than reproaches," was Lathom's reply, as he 
closed his book for that evening. 



CHAPTER VI. 

CURIOSITIES OF THE GESTA THE WICKED PRIEST THE FOUR QUALI- 
TIES OF THE DOG THE EMPEROr's DAUGHTER, ITS CURIOUS AP- 
PLICATION — THE EMPEROR AND THE THREE IMAGES — AN ENIGMA. 




|nHE use Shakspeare has made of your monks' tales 
would seem to augur a certain popularity of the 
_, work in the days in which he wrote," said Her- 
™"J bert, when the friends met on their sixth evening. 

" A greater popularity than will now be credited : 
in the reign of Elizabeth and her successor, the Gesta Romanorum 
seems to have been sufficiently well known to admit of a frequent 
reference to it on the stage," replied Lathom. 

" Allusions to the work, not incidents from it ?" asked Herbert. 

" Yes, in the anonymous comedy of Sir Giles' Goose Cap, pub- 
lished early in James's reign, one of the characters speaks of the 
' quips and quick jests of his lordship as so good, that Gesta Ro- 
manorum were nothing to them;' whilst Chapman in his 'May- 
Day,' which dates in 1611, says, ' one that has read Marcus Aure- 
lius, Gesta Romanorum, and the Mirror of Magistrates, to be led 
by the nose like a blind bear that has read nothing !" 

" The slightest knowledge of the accomplishments of the Tudor 
and early Stuart times compels us to admit the extensive acquaint- 
ance with Latin writers, possessed by classes to whom now they 
seem so little fitted," remarked Herbert. 

'* An acquaintance arising in all probability from the absence of 
a native literature, as well as from the position held by the Latin 
language in that age," rejoined Thompson. 

" Whose conversions have we to-night ?" asked Herbert. 

" Not any : not that my catalogue is run out, but partly because 
I have not been able to keep up with the speed of our reading; 
and partly because I wished to illustrate the moralisations attached 
to the tales, which we have lately rather lost sight of." 



62 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" What peculiar doctrine are you intending to illustrate V asked 
Herbert. 

<f The doctrine that the effect of a divine ordinance is not taken 
away, nor the grace of God's gifts diminished, by the ministration 
of evil men. The story is that of 

€i)t »tdutr grwat. 

In the reign of Otho there was a certain wicked priest 
who created much dissatisfaction among his parishioners ; and 
many were extremely scandalised. One of them, in particular, 
always absented himself from the mass when it was the turn of 
this priest to celebrate it. Now it happened on a festival day, 
during the time of mass, that as this person was walking alone 
through a meadow, a sudden thirst came upon him, insomuch 
that he was persuaded, unless present relief could be obtained, 
he should die. 

In this extremity continuing his walk, he discovered a rivu- 
let of the purest water, of which he copiously drank ; but the 
more he drank, the more violent became his thirst. Surprised 
at so unusual a circumstance, he said to himself, " I will find 
out the source of this rivulet, and there will I satisfy my thirst." 

With these thoughts he went up the stream. And as he 
went, a venerable old man met him, and asked him whither he 
was going. 

" Father," he replied, "lam oppressed with an unquench- 
able thirst, and even now I drank of this rivulet ; but, lo, the 
more I drink, so much the more I thirst; and I now seek its 
source, if perchance I may there quench my thirst, and not 
die." 

The old man pointed with his finger, " There," said he, 
" is the spring-head of the rivulet. But tell me, my honest 
friend, why are you not at church, and with other good Chris- 
tians, hearing mass ?" 

" Truly, master," answered the man, " our priest leads 
such an execrable life, that I think it utterly impossible that 
he should celebrate it so as to please God." 

" Suppose what you say is true," replied the old man; 



CH. VI.] THE WICKED PRIEST. 63 

" observe this fountain, from which so much excellent water 
issues, and from which you have so lately drunk." 

He looked in the direction pointed out, and beheld a putrid 
dog, with its mouth wide open, and its teeth black and de- 
cayed, through which the whole fountain gushed in a surpris- 
ing manner. The man regarded the stream with terror and 
confusion of mind, ardently desirous of quenching his thirst, 
but apprehensive of poison from the foetid and loathsome car- 
cass, with which, to all appearance, the water was imbued. 

" Be not afraid," said the old man, observing his repug- 
nance; " thou hast already drunk of the rivulet ; drink again, 
it will not harm thee." 

Encouraged by these assurances, and impelled by the in- 
tensity of his thirst, he partook of it once more, and instantly 
recovered from the drought. 

"Master, dear master," exclaimed the man, "never man 
drank of such delicious water." 

" See now," the old man answered, " as this water, gush- 
ing through the mouth of a putrid dog, is neither polluted, nor 
loses aught of its natural taste or colour, so is the celebration 
of the mass by a worthless minister ; and therefore, though the 
vices of such men may displease and disgust, yet should you 
not forsake the duties of which they are the appointed organ." 

Saying these words, the old man disappeared : and what 
the other had seen, he communicated to his neighbours, and 
ever after punctually attended mass. He brought this unstable 
and transitory life to a good end, and passed from that which 
is corruptible to inherit incorruption. 



"There is but one fiction," said Herbert, " in this legend which 
requires further explanation ; why the stream of the fountain of life 
is made to flow through the rank jaws of a putrid dog, rather than 
that of any other animal." 

" The incident is intentional/' rejoined Lathom ; " an old couplet 
ascribes to the dog four special qualities ; a healing tongue, a dis- 
tinguishing sense of smell, a perfect love, and unremitting watch- 
fulness." 



64 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" You allude to the lines 

' In cane bis bina sunt, et lingua medicina, 
Naris odoratus, amor integer atque latratus,' " 

said Thompson. 

"Yes/' rejoined Latham, "these four qualities, say the old 
writers, ought to be diligently cultivated by a priest. By his tongue 
he should heal the sick at heart, and probe the wounds of sin, 
careful not to heal with roughness the soul's wounds, but to lick 
them as the dog does those of the body. His keenness of per- 
ception should be able to distinguish the true confession from the 
false one ; to see what is due to cunningness, what to internal 
struggles, what to reckless contempt of consequences. He, too, 
should have as unshaken a love for the Church and the faith as the 
dog for its master or its charge ; ready to lay down his life for his 
flock. As the watch-dog of the great King, his warning voice must 
be raised against enemies from without, preventing, by his diligence 
in his calling, the machinations of the world and its master against 
the soul." 

Next we have the tale of 

Cfje (£mpcrrjr'$ 2BaucjI)ter. 

Many centuries ago there reigned a great and good emperor, 
whose name was Pompey. He had an only daughter, of re- 
markable beauty, whom he loved so dearly, that day and night 
he ordered five of his most valiant knights to watch over her ; 
and on pain of their lives to guard her from harm. Day and 
night did these brave men keep watch and ward over the lady's 
chamber. A lamp burned above the door, that the approach 
of an enemy might be more readily detected ; and a faithful 
mastiff lay on the threshold, whose watchfulness was as un- 
remitting as his bark was loud and shrill. But all these pre- 
cautions were fruitless. The princess loved the world and its 
pleasures ; and sighed to mingle in its busy scenes, and gaze 
upon its gorgeous pageants. One day, as she looked from her 
window, a certain duke rode by, and he looked upon her 
beauty, and loved her with a false love. 



CH. VI.] THE EMPEROR'S DAUGHTER. 65 

Day after day did the duke endeavour to withdraw the 
princess from her guardians, and numerous were the devices by 
which he sought to accomplish his designs upon her and her 
father's throne. At length by the promise of unbounded plea- 
sure, the duke persuaded the princess to overturn the lamp 
that burned at her chamber- door, and to poison the dog that 
lay at her threshold. 

That same night, when the lamp was quenched, and the 
mastiff silenced, the duke stole upon the guard, and bore away 
with him the maiden. 

On the morrow, great was the confusion at the emperor's 
court. Men rode hither and thither in pursuit of the fugitives, 
for no one knew which way they had fled. One knight alone 
hit upon their track ; a great and terrible knight he was, the 
emperor's champion ; and he came upon them and slew the 
duke, and brought the maiden back to her father. 

Very wroth was the emperor with his daughter, and he 
left her to bewail her sins in solitude. Time and reflection 
brought repentance, and the princess bewailed her sins bit- 
terly. 

Now there was a good old man at Pompey's court, who 
was ever ready to intercede with the emperor on behalf of peni- 
tent offenders, and to whose words Pompey listened willingly. 
This lord came to the emperor and told him of his daughter's 
repentance ; and his words were pleasant to the emperor, so 
that the father was reconciled to his child, and she was be- 
trothed by him to a nobleman of worth and power. 

Many and precious were the bridal gifts the princess 
received. 

The good old lord gave her a robe of the finest and richest 
wool, on which was worked this moral, — " I have raised thee 
up ; beware how thou fall again." He gave her also a ring, 
of which the legend was, " What have I done ? How much ? 
Why ?" 

From her father she received a golden coronet, on which 
was engraved, " Thy dignity is from me." 

From the king's champion, who rescued her from her 
g2 



66 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

seducer, she received a ring, and the legend was, " I have 
loved thee ; do thou return my love." 

The king's son gave her a ring, and on it was written, 
" Thou art noble ; despise not thy nobility." Whilst on that 
which her brother presented to her was engraved, " Approach, 
fear not ; I am thy brother." 

The last gift was from her husband ; a golden signet that 
confirmed her inheritance, and which bore this motto, " Now 
thou art espoused, be faithful." 

The princess received these gifts with gratitude, and parted 
not with them but with her life. 



" The meanings of some of these presents are clearly too recon- 
dite to be guessed at," remarked Herbert on the conclusion of the 
tale. 

" You will say so when we read them. But first of the actors 
in the tale," rejoined Lathom. " The emperor is our Heavenly Father, 
and his daughter, the human soul, which he delivers to the five 
senses, armed by the powers of baptism, to guard from injury. The 
burning lamp is the will, shining brilliantly in good works, and dis- 
pelling the gloom of sin. The watchful dog is conscience. As often 
as the soul breaks any of the commands of God, it may be said to 
look abroad on the world and its dangers. Then comes the devil, 
the great seducer, whose triumph over the soul is easy when the 
lamp of the will is extinguished, and the barking of conscience is 
silenced. Then God arises as our champion, and fights for us 
against the world, the flesh, and the devil, and leads back the 
sinning soul to the palace of the heavenly king. The sage lord, 
the mediator, is our Saviour : 'for He is our peace, who hath made 
both one.' " 

" This is tolerably clear and probable," said Thompson. 

"The marriage presents will compensate for it. — From him," 
continues the moral, " we received the aforesaid gifts ; first, a cloak 
descending to the ancle, that is, his most precious skin ; and said 
to be of delicate texture, because it was woven with stripes, blood, 
bruises, and other various instances of malice ; of which texture 
nothing more is meant than this : ' I have raised thee up, because I 



CH. VI.] THE EMPEROR LEO AND THE THREE IMAGES. 67 

have redeemed thee ; do not throw thyself into further evil.' That 
same Christ, our king, gave to us a glorious crown, that is, when 
He submitted to be crowned for our sakes. And of a truth, ' thy 
dignity is from me,' even from that crown. Christ is our champion, 
who gave us a sign — that is, the hole in His right hand ; and we 
ourselves can see how faithfully it is written, ' I have loved thee ; do 
thou also love/ He gave us another ring, which is the puncture in 
His left hand, where we see written, 'What have I done? How 
much? Why?' 'What have I done?' I have despoiled myself, 
receiving the form of a servant. 'Why?' To redeem the lost. 
Concerning these three, Zachary xiii. : ' What are the wounds in 
the middle of thy hands ? ' and he answered, saying, ' I am wounded 
by these men in their house, who loved me.' Christ is our brother, 
and son of the Eternal King. He gave us a third ring, — to wit, 
the hole in His right foot ; and what can be understood by it, but, 
'Thou art noble ; despise not thy nobility?' In like manner Christ 
is our brother-german. And He gave us a fourth ring, the puncture 
in His left foot, on which is written, ' Approach, fear not ; I am thy 
brother/ Christ is also our spouse ; He gave us a signet, with 
which He confirmed our inheritance ; that is, the wound made in 
His side by the spear, on account of the great love with which He 
loved us. And what can this signify, but ' Thou art joined to me 
through mercy ; sin no more V " 

" You have established the character of the Gesta for recondite 
moralisation," said Thompson ; " will you give us a tale rather more 
intelligible?" 

"Willingly," rejoined Lathom j "you shall have the tale that 
Gower has versified." 

djc GBmpmir 3Uo antf tlje €l)vtt images. 

A certain Roman emperor, Leo, was so fond of looking upon 
a pretty face, that he made three fair female images, and placed 
them in a temple, that all his subjects might look on them and 
worship. One statue stood with its hand extended, towards 
the worshippers, and bore on its finger a golden ring, on which 
was the legend, " My finger is generous." The' second figure 
had a beard of beaten gold, and on its brow was written, " I 
have a beard ; if any one be beardless, let him come to me, and 



5 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

I will give him one." The third figure had a cloak of gold and 
a purple tunic, and on its breast was written, " I fear no one." 
With so many temptations came a law, that whosoever stole 
either the ring, the beard, or the cloak, should surely die. A 
thief was soon found. According to the poet : 

" There was a clerk, one Lucius, 
A comlier, a famous man ; 
Of every wit some what he can, 
Out-take that him lacketh rule, 
His own estate to guide and rule;" 

So he took to riotous living, " and was not wise in his doing ;" 
ergo — 

" After the need of his desert, 
So fell this clerke in poverte." 

The thief, whether poor man or ruined clerk, removed the 
treasures, was seen by the people, and brought before the em- 
peror, on the charge of breaking the royal edict. 

But the thief said, " Good my lord, suffer me to speak." 

And the emperor said, " Speak on." 

Then said the man, " Lo, as I entered the temple of the 
three images, the first image extended to me its finger, as 
though it would say, ' Take this ring ;' but yet I doubted of its 
wishes, until I read the superscription, ' My finger is generous ;' 
then knew I that it was the pleasure of the statue to give the 
ring, and I obeyed and took it. Then came I to the image 
with the beard of gold. Methinks the maker of this had no 
beard ; shall the creature be better than the creator ? that were 
a plain and manifest wrong. But still I was modest, and hesi- 
tated, until the words of the inscription, * Let him that is beard- 
less come to me, and 1 will give him one,' forbad me to refuse 
to supply my own wants by the statue's gift. As for the 
golden cloak, it was in pure charity that I took it away. Stone 
is cold, and metal is cold ; the image is of the former, the 
cloak of the latter. In winter it was adding cold to cold ; in 
summer it was too heavy and warm for the season. Still should 
I have forborne to rob the statue of its cloak, had I not seen 



CH. VI.] THE THREE IMAGES. 69 

the words, '■ I fear no one.' Such intolerable arrogance, in a 
woman too, was to be punished. I took the cloak to humble 
the statue's pride." But all these excuses were useless. 

" Fair sir," replied Leo, " do you not know the law, that 
he who robs the statues shall die ? — let the law be obeyed." 
And it was as the emperor said. 



" Your tale reminds me strongly of the witticisms by which the 
elder Dionysius justified his theft of the golden cloak of Jupiter and 
the beard of iEsculapius," said Herbert. 

" What, when he exchanged the cold gold garment for the warm 
woollen robe, and took off the beard of the son of the Beardless V* 
remarked Thompson ; " but let us hear the moral." 

" The moral of this tale," said Lathom, " is the least strained, 
and perhaps the best of all the applications attached to the legends. 
The emperor is God. The three images, the three sorts of man- 
kind in whom God takes delight. The first image with its extended 
hand and proffered gift, is no bad symbol of the poor and simple of 
this world, who prevail little among the great and powerful, unless 
their gift is ready in the extended hand. ' Why fleecest thou the 
poor V asks conscience. ' May I not receive the proffered gift when 
freely offered ?' replies the wicked man. ' Did I not take it, men 
would laugh at me — to curb their tongues I take it.' " 

" A bitter and too often true lesson, in all times and all nations," 
remarked Herbert. " We seldom want for a good excuse." 

"The second image," continued Lathom, "is the symbol of 
those who are raised to wealth by God's especial blessing, and 
from whom the wicked seek to take away their property by every 
pretext. ' We are bald/ cry they ; ' we are poor ; let us divide this 
man's riches among us.' " 

" There were chartists in those days as well as now ; levelling 
comes natural to some minds," said Thompson. " But to the third 
figure." 

" The image with the golden cloak," continued Lathom, " repre- 
sents the good man in power and authority, who fears not the evil 
man, encourages virtue, and eradicates vice. ' He is proud ; he is 
a tyrant,' cry the people ; f we will not have this man to reign over 



70 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

us/ But, says the old monk, ' The end of these men is according 
to the law of the Lord, for they perish miserably/ " 

" The old priest's moral has so well satisfied me, that I am 
sorry that our evening is come to a close," said Herbert. 

" Well — it must be so : but come," replied Lathom, " you shall 
have an enigma to discover. An emperor found a sarcophagus on 
which were three circles, with these words: 'I have expended — J 
have given — I have kept — J have possessed — / do possess — I have lost 
— / am punished.' Whilst on the front of the chest was written, 
' What I have expended, I have : TlHiat I gave away, I have.' Read 
me this inscription." 




CHAPTER VII. 

CURIOSITIES OF THE GESTA BYRKEs' EPITAPH THE LAY OF THE 

LITTLE BIRD CURIOUS DIALOGUE ON THE TROUBLES OF LIFE 

ANCIENT FAIRS WINCHESTER MODERN CONTINENTAL FAIRS 

RUSSIA NISCHNEI NOVGOROD. 

IE confess ourselves conquered," said Herbert, when 
the next evening was come ; " your old monk's 
learning is too recondite for us." 

" First, then, comes ' I have expended :' what ? 
— my life — in judgment, in advice, in authority. ' I 
have given' — equipments to my servants and warriors, charity to 
the needy. 'I have kept' — exact justice. 'I have possessed' — a 
generous and true heart. ' I do possess'— a hand to bestow, to 
protect, to punish. ' I have lost' — my folly, the friendship of my 
foes, the desires of the flesh. ' I am punished' — for my sins." 

" So far, so good ; but the most abstruse remains unexplained," 
said Thompson : ** on the front of the sarcophagus was written — 
' What I have expended, I have ; what I gave away, I have :' how 
do you read these sayings ?" 

" I am afraid I cannot help you," rejoined Lathom ; "the story 
seems to be defective at this point, and we must fall back on the 
suggestions of the translator, of whom I have spoken before. Mr. 
Swann refers the words, ' What I have expended, I have,' to a judi- 
cious outlay of property, by which various benefits are reaped by 
the expender in the persons of his descendants. Whilst the other 
words, ' What I gave away, I have,' he explains of the thanks of the 
poor and the blessings of heaven consequent on charitable gifts." 

" Your story reminds me of the old epitaph in Doncaster Church," 
said Herbert, " which Gough gives in these words : 

' Howe, howe, who is heare ? 

I, Robert of Doncaster, and Margaret my feare (wife), 

That I spent, that I had; 

That I gave, that I have ; 

That I left, that I lost : 



72 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

A.D. 1579. 

Quoth Robertus Byrkes, 

Who in this worlde 

Did reygne three 

Score yeares and seven 

And yet lived not one.' " 

" The three centre lines of his epitaph, indeed, bear a curious 
likeness to some of the inscriptions on the sarcophagus; perhaps 
the wise man who composed the epitaph may have seen your old 
monk's book, or heard its moralities in many an old pulpit exhorta- 
tion in his early days/' said Thompson. 

" Coincidences are oftentimes just as remarkable as plagiarisms," 
said Herbert. " But come, Sir Tale-teller, what entertainment have 
you for us this evening?" 

" A little poetry, not of my own ; but so closely resembling 
the old tale of the Gesta, that I prefer this poetic version, of the 
Lay of the Little Bird, to my own stiff prose/' 

€f)e ILai) of fyt Utttte 33ttt. 

" In days of yore, at least a century since, 
There lived a carle as wealthy as a prince : 
His name I wot not ; but his wide domain 
Was rich with stream and forest, mead and plain ; 
To crown the whole, one manor he possess'd 
In choice delight so passing all the rest, 
No castle, burgh, or city might compare 
With the quaint beauties of that mansion rare. 
The sooth to say, I fear my words may seem 
Like some strange fabling or fantastic dream, 
If, unadvised, the portraiture I trace, 
And each brave pleasure of that peerless place. 
Foreknow ye, then, by necromantic might 
Was rais'd this paradise of all delight : 
A good knight own'd it first ; he, bow'd with age 
Died, and his son possess'd the heritage : 
But the rude stripling, all to riot bent, 
(His chattels quickly wasted and forespent,) 
Was driven to see this patrimony sold 
To the base carle of whom I lately told. 



CH. VII.] THE LAY OF THE LITTLE BIRD. 

Ye wot right well there only need be sought 

One spendthrift heir, to bring great wealth to nought. 

A lofty tower and strong, the building stood 

Midst a vast plain surrounded by a flood ; 

And hence one pebble -paved channel stray 'd, 

That compass 'd in a clustering orchard's shade : 

'Twas a choice charming plat ; abundant round 

Flowers, roses, odorous spices cloth'd the ground ; 

Unnumber'd kinds, and all profusely shower'd 

Such aromatic balsam as they flower 'd, 

Their fragrance might have stay'd man's parting breath, 

And chas'd the hovering agony of death. 

The sward one level held, and close above, 

Tall shapely trees their leafy mantles wove ; 

All equal growth, and low their branches came, 

Thick set with goodliest fruits of every name. 

In midst, to cheer the ravish'd gazer's view, 

A gushing fount its waters upward threw, 

Thence slowly on with crystal current pass'd, 

And crept into the distant flood at last : 

But nigh its source a pine's umbrageous head, 

Stretch'd far and wide in deathless verdure spread, 

Met with broad shade the summer's sultry gleam,' 

And through the livelong year shut out the beam.' 

Such was the scene : yet still the place was bless'd 
With one rare pleasure passing all the rest : 
A wondrous bird of energies divine 
Had fix'd his dwelling in the tufted pine ; 
There still he sat, and there with amorous lay 
Waked the dim morn, and closed the parting day : 
Match 'd with these strains of linked sweetness wrought 
The violin and full-toned harp were nought ; 
Of power they were with new-born joy to move 
The cheerless heart of long-desponding love ; 
Of power so strange, that should thev cease to sound, 
And the blithe songster flee the mystic ground, 
That goodly orchard's scene, the pine-tree's shade, 
Trees, flowers, and fount, would all like vapour fade. 



74 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

' Listen, listen to my lay!' 

Thus the merry notes did chime, 
'All who mighty love obey, 

Sadly wasting in your prime, 
Clerk and laic, grave and gay ! 

Yet do ye, before the rest, 
Gentle maidens, mark me tell ! 

Store my lesson in your breast, 
Trust me it shall profit well : 

Hear, and heed me, and be bless'd !' 
So sang the bird of old ; but when he spied 
The carle draw near, with alter 'd tone he cried — 
* Back, river, to thy source ! and thee, tall tower, 
Thee, castle strong, may gaping earth devour ! 
Bend down your heads, ye gaudy flowers, and fade ! 
And wither 'd be each fruit-tree's mantling shade ! 
Beneath these beauteous branches once were seen 
Brave gentle knights disporting on the green, 
And lovely dames ; and oft, these flowers among, 
Stayed the blithe bands, and joyed to hear my song: 
Nor would they hence retire, nor quit the grove, 
Till many a vow were pass'd of mutual love ; 
These more would cherish, those would more deserve ; 
Cost, courtesy, and arms, and nothing swerve. 

O bitter change ! for master now we see 
A faitour villain carle of low degree ; 
Foul gluttony employs his livelong day, 
Nor heeds nor hears he my melodious lay.' 

So spake the bird ; and, as he ceas'd to sing, 
Indignantly he clapp'd his downy wing, 
And straight was gone. But no abasement stirr'd 
In the clown's breast at his reproachful word ; 
Bent was his wit alone, by quaint device 
To snare, and sell him for a passing price. 
So well he wrought, so craftily he spread 
In the thick foliage green his slender thread, 
That when at eve the little songster sought 
His wonted spray, his little foot was caught. 



CH. VII.] THE LAY OF THE LITTLE BIRD. 75 

* How have I harm'd you V straight he 'gan to cry, 

' And wherefore would you doom me thus to die ?' 

' Nay, fear not/ quoth the clown, * for death or wrong ; 

I only seek to profit by thy song : 

I'll get thee a fine cage, nor shalt thou lack 

Good store of kernels and of seeds to crack : 

But sing thou shalt ; for if thou playest the mute, 

I'll spit thee, bird, and pick thy bones to boot.' 

' Ah, woe is me ! ' the little thrall replied, 

' Who thinks of song, in prison doomed to bide ? 

And, were I cook'd, my bulk might scarce afford 

One scanty mouthful to my hungry lord.' 

What may I more relate? — the captive wight 
Assay'd to melt the villain all he might ; 
And fairly promis'd, were he once set free, 
In gratitude to teach him secrets three ; 
Three secrets, all so marvellous and rare, 
His race knew nought that might with these compare. 

The carle prick'd up his ears amain ; he loos'd 
The songster thrall, by love of gain seduc'd ; 
Up to the summit of the pine-tree's shade 
Sped the blithe bird, and there at ease he stay'd, 
And trick'd his plumes full leisurely, I trow, 
Till the carle claim'd his promise from below : 

* Right gladly,' quoth the bird ; ' now grow thee wise ; 

All human prudence few brief lines comprise : 

First, then, lest haply in the event it fail, 

Yield not a ready faith to every tale/ 

' Is this thy secret?' quoth the moody elf, 

' Keep, then, thy silly lesson for thyself; 

I need it not.' ' How be't, 'tis not amiss 

To prick thy memory with advice like this, 

But late, meseems, thou hadst forgot the lore ; 

Now may'st thou hold it fast for evermore. 

Mark next my second rule, and sadly know, 

What's lost, 'tis wise with patience to forego/ 
The carle, though rude of wit, now chafed amain ; 

He felt the mockery of the songster's strain. 



76 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

' Peace,' quoth the bird ; * my third is far the best ; 

Store thou the precious treasure in thy breast : 

What good thou hast, ne'er lightly from thee cast : 

— He spoke, and twittering fled away full fast. 

Straight sunk in earth, the gushing fountain dries, 

Down fall the fruits, the wither'd pine-tree dies, 

Fades all the beauteous plat, so cool, so green, 

Into thin air, and never more is seen. 

' Such was the meed of avarice,— bitter cost ! 

The carle who all would gather, all has lost.' " 



"There is something very eastern about this tale," remarked 
Herbert at its conclusion. 

" It is found in the old Greek monk's legend of Barlaam and 
Josaphat," replied Lathom, " to whom it is more probable that it 
came from the east, than from any other source." 

" Such a story, I should suppose, has been freely used by later 
writers," said Thompson. 

" It appears in the Disciplina Clericalis of Alphonsus, in the 
Golden Legend of Caxton, and in Lydgate, under the title of ' The 
Chorle and the Bird ;' but besides these and Mr. Way, whose ver- 
sion I have just read to you, I cannot discover any other writers 
who have made use of this fiction." 

"The moral of this fiction explains itself," said Herbert. "I 
presume the author is content with the plain meaning." 

"Yes, for this once," rejoined Lathom; "but be content, the 
next story will satisfy the greatest lover of allegories ; for curious 
indeed is it as an instance, even among curiosities, of the once com- 
mon practice of converting every thing into allegory." 

" How is it entitled?" asked Thompson. 

" ' Of the Burdens of this Life ;' in form, it is a dialogue between 
a scholar and his master, who might well be supposed to change 
places with each other. You must be content with Mr. Swann's 
version." 

<&i tljt 33uv*en4 of t$itf %iic. 

A certain king once went to a fair, and took with him a 
preceptor and his scholar. Standing in the market-place, they 



i 



CH. VII.] OF THE BURDENS OF THIS LIFE. 77 

perceived eight packages for sale. The scholar questioned his 
teacher respecting the first of them. "Pray," said he, " what 
is the price of poverty ? that is, of tribulation for the love of 
God ?" 

Preceptor. The kingdom of heaven. 

Scholar. It is a great price indeed. Open the second 
package, and let us see what it contains. 

P. It contains meekness : Blessed are the meek. 

S. Meekness, indeed, is a very illustrious thing, and worthy 
of divine majesty. What is its price ? 

P. Neither gold nor silver will be taken ; they are too con- 
temptible. I demand earth for it, and nothing but earth will 
I receive. 

S. There is a spacious tract of uninhabited country be- 
tween India and Britain. Take as much of it as you please. 

P. No ; this land is the land of the dying ; the land which 
devours its inhabitants. Men die there. I demand the land 
of the living. 

S. I muse at what you say. All die, and would you alone 
be exempt ? Would you live for ever ? Behold, Blessed are 
the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. What is there in 
the third package ? 

P. Hunger and thirst. 

S. For how much may these be purchased ? 

P. For righteousness. Blessed are they who hunger and 
thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled. 

S. Therefore you shall possess righteousness, provided 
there be no neglect. What does the fourth contain ? 

P. Tears, wailings, and woe ; 

Moisture above, and moisture below. 

S. It is not customary to buy tears and wailings, yet I will 
buy it ; because the saints desire it at this price. Blessed are 
they who mourn, for they shall be comforted. What is the 
fifth package ? 

P. It is a divided parcel, and contains mercy, which I will 
weigh to please you. At a word, I will take mercy for mercy ; 
eternity for time. 

h 2 



78 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

S. You were a bad umpire to ask this, unless mercy 
plead for you. Still, she shall become your surety. And 
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. In this 
life we abound in poverty, wretchedness, and hardship. Undo 
the sixth package, perhaps it may contain something better. 

P. It is clearly full ; but it loves not, like a purple robe, 
to be exposed before the common eye ; you shall see it in pri- 
vate, and then we will agree about the price. 

S. Very well ; what is next ? 

P. Purity ; which is extremely valuable. That gold and 
silver vase contains piety, goodness, charity, and spiritual joy. 
Now, then, let us open these precious garments. Here are 
lectures, meditations, prayers, and contemplations. The judg- 
ments of the Lord are justified in themselves, and more to be 
desired than gold and precious stones. 

£. There is a great reward in the possession. Ask, there- 
fore, what you will. 

P. To see God. 

S. Therefore, Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall 
see God. Open the seventh package. 

P. It contains peace. 

S. What ! are you going to sell me your peace ? 

P. It does not accord with my poverty, nor would it with 
your justice and great wealth, to take any thing of me for no- 
thing. But your liberality will make me rich. What then ? 
I am a mean country fellow, and made of clay ; formed of the 
very dust of the earth. My want of nobility oppresses me, 
and I would no longer bear the reproach which says, ' You 
are earth, and to earth you shall go.' I would rather have it 
said to me, ' You are heaven, and to heaven you shall go.' I 
eagerly desire to fulfil the destiny of the sons of God ; I would 
become a son of God. 

S. I have done ; I confess the truth, and distrust you no 
longer. Blessed are the peace-makers, for they shall be called 
the sons of God. If, therefore, you preserve the love of a son, 
you shall receive the paternal inheritance. -Now what is con- 
tained in the last package ? Explain it. 



CH. VII.] ANCIENT FAIRS. 79 

P. It contains only tribulation and persecution for the sake 
of righteousness. 

S. What do you want for it ? 

P. The kingdom of heaven. 

8. I gave you that as the price of poverty. 

P. True ; but month after month, week after week, man 
wanders in his wishes. Before the present week or month 
expires, what will remain of it ? 

S. I marvel at your sagacity in making a bargain. Now 
hear, good and faithful servant ; because thou hast been faith- 
ful over a few things, I will make thee lord over many. 



"The allusion to the king's visit to the fair," said Herbert, " re- 
minds me of what Wharton says of the royal booth at the fair of St. 
Botolph, at Boston, in Lincolnshire, from which stall or booth the 
king drew revenue." 

" Before roads were general and passable, and the communication 
between town and town was frequent, the concourse of people at the 
various fairs must have been very great," said Thompson. 

" As great as even now in many parts of the East, where the fairs 
are still regarded as the great emporia of merchandise, the universal 
mart of extensive districts, dependent on such meetings for their 
chief supplies." 

" Wharton," said Herbert, " gives a curious account of St. Giles' 
fair at Winchester, which dated back to the Conquest, was held for 
three days, and, by later grants, extended to sixteen ; and was given 
by William the Conqueror to the bishops of Winchester as a source 
of revenue." 

'* Doubtless no mean revenue was derived from it ?" said Lathom. 

" For those days, very great: the jurisdiction of the fair extended 
for seven miles round, including the port of Southampton ; and 
every merchant who sold wares within that circuit, except at the 
fair, or refused to pay the bishop's toll, had' his goods forfeited to 
the bishop. In the middle of St. Giles' Down stood the bishop's 
pavilion, where sat his court, supreme, so long as the fair lasted, 
within the seven miles' jurisdiction." 

'* What, over other existing jurisdictions, the lords of the neigh- 
bourhood, or the corporation of Winchester :" asked Thompson. 



80 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" Yes, supreme for the time. Even the city was for the time 
under the bishop's rule ; on St. Giles' eve the keys were delivered to 
him, and, during the fair, toll was exacted in his name on all goods 
that went through the city gate. No baron within the circuit could 
hold his manor-court without a license from the bishop's pavilion. 
The bishop appointed a mayor, bailiff, and coroner of his own during 
the fair." 

"Being so near the coast, foreigners must have often resorted to 
the great Winchester fair, I presume?" 

"Yes," rejoined Herbert. "So numerous and powerful that 
they had their separate street in the fair, as the drapers, and 
spice-dealers, and potters had theirs ; and the toll to the bishop 
from the foreign merchants formed no mean portion of the revenue 
he derived from the fair." 

" It was an old custom for merchants to meet from all countries 
at the different fairs," said Lathom. " I remember to have read that 
in 1314, Philip of France remonstrated with our second Edward on 
the great loss his subjects had received from the merchants of Eng- 
land desisting from frequenting the fairs in France." 

"Yes," remarked Frederick Thompson ; "in the days of the 
Edwards and Henrys a fair was as great a panacea for evils, as public 
meetings in this century. If a village was sacked or destroyed by 
fire or flood, the grant of a fair was an established means of restoring 
it to its pristine vigour." 

" We must look abroad for the old fairs, such as they were in 
the middle ages," said Herbert. " Frankfort and Leipzig still re- 
mind us of such fairs as that at Winchester ; thirty to forty thou- 
sand buyers and sellers are not uncommonly seen at Leipzig, the 
last great fair of central Europe." 

" And yet," said Lathom, " both these are but children to the 
great fair of Nischnei Novgorod, where merchants from the banks of 
the Baltic and the Caspian interchange goods with Khivans, Chi- 
nese, the mountaineers of central Asia, and the merchants of western 
Europe." 

" It is, indeed, almost difficult to believe Kohl's account of the 
meeting at Nischnei Novgorod," said Herbert. 

" Wonderful, but of admitted truth. How curious must be the 
scenes ; a town of vast emporia, mingled with nearly three thousand 
shops, almost without an inhabitant, save a few government officials, 






CH. VII.] ANCIENT FAIRS. 81 

until the flag is raised on the 29th of June ; then the town is alive 
like an ant-hill. Every magazine and booth is filled with merchan- 
dise, the produce of the most diverse countries ; thousands of boats 
are landing goods, or taking them to other vessels ; piles of merchan- 
dise stand on all sides, even in the open country ; and amidst all this 
treasury of wealth, three hundred thousand of nearly all nations 
under heaven are trafficking." 

" The value of goods exposed at such fairs must be startling, if 
capable of being calculated," said Herbert. 

"The system of fair- tolls makes this an easy matter. In 1839, 
the value of goods exposed at twenty-two of the fairs of Russia, 
reached fifteen millions and a half, of which Novgorod contributed 
nearly one-half. 

" Roubles," suggested Thompson. 

" No, sterling pounds." 

With this digressive conversation, the evening closed, 




CHAPTER VIII. 

SOUTHEY'S THALABA THE SUGGESTIONS OF THE EVIL ONE COTONO- 

LAPES THE MAGICIAN THE GARDEN OF ALOADDIN THE OLD MAN 

OF THE MOUNTAIN THE ASSASSINS THEIR RISE AND FALL GAY's 

CONJURER THE TALE OF SIR GUIDO THE CRUSADER GUY, EARL 

OF WARWICK. 

^]RE you going to give us a specimen of the late Lau- 
reate's conversions/' said Thompson, " that you bor- 
rowed my Southey 1" 

" Even so — to claim for the magic garden of 
Aloaddin, the gem of the sixth book of Thalaba, at 
least a Latin form, if it must not be regarded as a striking instance 
of my eastern theory." 

" Southey did not come to your book for his idea ; he was con- 
tent with the apparently historical account of Purchas in his Pilgrims, 
or the more elaborate description of the notorious Mandeville," re- 
joined Thompson. 

" I am very much at a loss to appreciate your account," said 
Herbert, " as Southey, Purchas, and Mandeville, are nearly all 
equally unknown to me." 

" The best means of shewing the progress of the story and its 
conversion by the poet," said Lathom, "will be to commence with 
the old monk's very short version ; let that be followed by Man- 
deville, and that veritable author by Southey 's description." The 
monk's tale is, 

Cije ihiggcgttom; of tfjc <£bil <&m. 

There was a celebrated magician, who had a vast castle, sur- 
rounded by a very beautiful garden, in which grew flowers of 
the most fragrant smell, and fruits not only fair to look upon 
but most delicious to the taste. In short, it was a garden of 
paradise ; no one was allowed to see its glories, or taste its 
pleasures, but fools or personal enemies of the magician. "When 
the gate was opened to any one, great was his wonder and de- 
light ; and few who once entered ever wished to return. Nay, 



CH. VIII.] COTONOLAPES THE MAGICIAN. 83 

the pleasures they there enjoyed so affected their minds, that 
they yielded forthwith to the will of the magician, and were 
ready to resign to him every thing that they had. 

To the fools, this garden appeared to be Paradise itself : its 
flowers and its fruits they looked upon as of immortal growth, 
and regarded themselves as chosen from among the inhabitants 
of the world as the happy possessors of the land. Beyond this 
they gave not one thought. Day and night they revelled in 
pleasure, and surrendered their minds and their bodies to law- 
less gratifications. 

At last the day of reckoning came, and the magician pre- 
pared to reap the fruits of his scheme. Their inheritances once 
placed in his power, he waited but for some moment when his 
victim was steeped in sensual intoxication, and then fell upon 
him and slew him. Thus by his fictitious paradise, he acquired 
great wealth and power. 



" I admire the moderation of your old monk," said Thompson, 
" in not assigning a particular locality to his magician's paradise. 
Purchas and Mandeville are not so moderate ; the former puts 
Aloaddin's abode in the north-east parts of Persia, and Mandeville 
locates him in the island of Milsterak, a portion of the kingdom of 
Prester John." 

"No bad illustration," said Herbert, "of the difference between 
a writer who tells a fiction as a fiction, and one who records it with 
the intention of making his readers believe it to be true." 

" Great particularity as to time, place, and persons, is the sure 
mark of a mendacious traveller," remarked Lathom. " Both Purchas 
and Mandeville have altered the object of the magician's plot, 
making it his means of destroying his enemies, by persuading his 
victims that death in his service was only a step to a more beautiful 
paradise. Thus reads Mandeville's tale of — 

CrjtonoIap*£ tfje J&agtrian. 

In the Isle of Pentexoire, that is in the land of Prester John, 
is a great isle, long and broad, and men call that isle Milsterak. 
There was a man there that was called Cotonolapes ; he was 



84 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

full rich, and had a fair castle on a hill, and strong, and he 
made a wall all about the hill right strong and fair ; within he 
had a fair garden, wherein were many trees bearing all manner 
of fruits that he might find, and he had planted therein all 
manner of herbs of good smell and that bare flowers, and there 
were many fair wells, and by them were made many halls and 
chambers well dight with gold and azure, and he had made 
there divers stories of beasts and birds, that sung and turned by 
engine and orbage as they had been quick ; and he had in his 
garden all things that might be to man solace and comfort ; he 
had also within that garden maidens within the age of fifteen 
years, the fairest that he might find, and men children of the 
same age, and they were clothed with cloth of gold, and he 
said that they were angels ; and he caused to be made certain 
hills, and enclosed them about with precious stones of jasper 
and crystal, and set in gold and pearls, and other manner of 
stones ; and he had made a conduit under the earth, so that 
when he would, the walls ran sometimes with milk, sometimes 
with wine, sometimes with honey, and this place is called Pa- 
radise ; and when any young bachelor of the country, knight 
or esquire, cometh to him for solace and disport, he leadeth 
them into his paradise, and sheweth them these things, as the 
songs of birds, and his damsels and wells ; and he did strike 
divers instruments of music, in a high tower, that might be 
heard, and said they were angels of God, and that place was 
Paradise, that God hath granted to those that believed, when 
he said thus : Dabo vobis terram fluentem lacte et melle ; that 
is to say, I shall give you land flowing with milk and honey. 
And then this rich man made these men drink a manner of drink, 
of which they were drunken ; and he said to them, if they would 
die for his sake, when they were dead, they should come to his 
paradise, and they should be of the age of those maidens, and 
should dwell always with them, and he should put them in a 
fairer paradise where they should see God in joy, and in his 
majesty. And then they granted to do that he would ; and he 
bade them go and slay such a lord, or a man of the country that 
he was wroth with, and that they should have dread of no man* 



CH. VIII.] THE GARDEN OF ALOADDIN. 85 

And if they were slain themselves for his sake, he should put 
them in his paradise when they were dead. And so went these 
wachelors to slay great lords of the country, and were slain 
themselves in hope to have that paradise ; and thus he was 
avenged of his enemies through his desert : and when rich men 
of the country perceived this cautell and malice, and the will 
of this Cotonolapes, they gathered them together and assailed 
the castle, and slew him, and destroyed all his goods and his 
fair places and riches that were in his paradise ; and the place 
of the walls there is yet, and some other things, but the riches 
are not, and it is not long ago since it was destroyed. 



" The variation made by this worthy story-teller seems to me to 
be an incorporation of the history of the Assassins," said Herbert. 

" Perhaps their ' Old Man of the Mountain,' as the chief of the 
Assassins was called, may have given rise to the entire fable," re- 
joined Lathom. " Now, Thompson, read the poet's conversion." 

Clje <§artfw of ^loafcaw. 

Thalaba stood mute, 
And passively received 
The mingled joy which flow'd on every sense. 
Where'er his eye could reach, 
Fair structures, rainbow hued, arose ; 
And rich pavilions through the opening woods 
Gleam 'd from their waving curtains sunny gold ; 
And winding through the verdant vale 

Went streams of liquid light, 
And fluted cypresses rear'd up 
Their living obelisks ; 
And broad-leaved plane-trees, in long colonnades, 

O'erarched delightful walks, 
Where round their trunks the thousand-tendrill'd vine 
Wound up, and hung the trees with greener wreaths, 
And clusters not their own. 
Wearied with endless beauty, did his eyes 
Return for rest ? beside him teems the earth 



86 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

With tulips like the ruddy evening streak'd. 
And here the lily hangs her head of snow ; 

And here amid her sable cup 
Shines the red eye-spot, like one brightest star, 
The solitary twinkle of the night ; 
And here the rose expands 
Her paradise of leaves. 
Then on his ear what sounds 
Of harmony arose ! 
Far music and the distance-mellow'd song 
From bowers of merriment ; 
The waterfall remote : 
The murmuring of the leafy groves, 
The single nightingale. 

# * * * 

And, oh, what odours the voluptuous vale 
Scatters from jasmine bowers, 
From yon rose wilderness, 
From cluster 'd henna, and from orange groves. 

* * * * 

Full of the bliss, yet still awake 
To wonder, on went Thalaba : 
On every side the song of mirth, 
The music of festivity, 
Invite the passing youth. 
Wearied at length with hunger and with heat, 
He enters in a banquet-room ; 
Where round a fountain's brink 
On silken carpets sat the festive train. 
Instant, through all his frame 
Delightful coolness spread ; 
The playing fount refresh'd 
The agitated air ; 
The very light came cool through silvering panes 
Of pearly shell, like the pale moonbeam tinged. 



"I think I must stop here," said Thompson ; "though the entire 
book seems but the poet's amplification of the tale of Mandeville." 

"The more I think on the subject, the more certain I feel that 
the Assassins of the eleventh century are the origin, if not of your 



CH. VIII.] THE ASSASSINS. 87 

tradition, at least of the tales of Purchas and Mandeville," said 
Herbert. 

" I know too little of their history, to agree with you or not ; 
surely theirs was a purely political association," answered Lathom. 

"Their original and avowed object was the placing a caliph of 
the race of Ismael on the throne of Bagdad ; but their secret doc- 
trines are supposed to have embraced a wider sphere, and are known 
to have been converted into the means of private revenge by the 
adept, who afterwards became known as the ' old man of the moun- 
tain/ " 

"Where did the old man reign ?" asked Thompson. 

i( On the mountain of Alamoot, in the north of Persia. The 
Vulture's rest, as its name imported, was not unlike the hill of 
Cotonolapes, or the Castle of the Magician of the Gesta. There 
Hassan ben Sabah gathered round him an independent society of 
seven degrees, with himself as their head, by the title of Sheikh of 
the Mountain." 

" What was the date of that event?" 

" Within a few years of the close of the eleventh century," re- 
plied Herbert : " his seven degrees commenced with the three grand 
priors, under him the practical rulers of the society. Then came 
the dais, or initiated ministers ; and fourthly, the refeelcs, or com- 
panions. Below these were the fedavees, or devoted, who were 
followed by the laseelcs, the aspirants, the novices of European 
orders. The profane, the common people, formed the last of the 
seven orders of the Assassins." 

"The mysteries, I suppose, were not revealed to any below the 
third class?" remarked Lathom. 

" No, the dais were alone acquainted with these ; what they 
were, besides implicit obedience to their chief, and the principle of 
interpreting the Koran allegorically, it is impossible to discover. By 
the rest of the society, the text of the Koran was to be observed in 
its strict letter. The fedavees were, however, the support of the 
society. They were composed, too often, of youths stolen from 
their parents, and educated in such a system as recognised the 
sheikh as omnipotent, and impressed on them the moral and reli- 
gious duty of obeying his commands." 

" From this order, then, the common idea of the Assassins arose ?" 
said Lathom. 



88 



ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 



" Undoubtedly/' rejoined Herbert. "They were led to look to 
his mandates as direct from heaven, and as impossible to be evaded. 
They were clothed in white, with red bonnets and girdles, and armed 
with sharp daggers ; but when a secret and dangerous mission was 
imposed, the disguises of the fedavees were appropriate to the task 
enjoined." 

" Is any thing known of their initiatory ceremonies ?" 

" But little ; Marco Polo, indeed, gives us a curious account 
of the garden of Alamoot, bearing a very strong likeness to that 
of Aloaddin, whither the fedavee was borne under the influence of 
opiates, before being sent on any important mission ; and where, on 
awakening, he found himself surrounded with every earthly pleasure. 
This, he was persuaded, was but a foretaste of the joys of paradise, 
which were to be the reward of his faithful performance of the 
mission. And thus buoyed up, the fedavees confronted danger in 
every form, and executed the commands of their chief in despite of 
countless difficulties." 

" Their name, I suppose, is but the corruption of that of their 
leader, Hassan," remarked Thompson. 

" Here doctors disagree," replied Herbert; "some are content 
with this origin ; whilst others, explaining the visions in the gar- 
den of Alamoot as the effects of an intoxicating herb, derive the 
name of the society from Hashish, the opiate of hemp-leaves, sup- 
posed to have been so freely used by the sheikh in deluding his 
victims." 

" How long did this strange society exist?" asked Lathom. 

" After a time, they divided into two branches ; the eastern one 
remaining at Alamoot, whilst the western spread into Syria. Both 
branches became too powerful and dangerous to be endured : after 
repeated attempts, the eastern branch was destroyed by the Monguls, 
about a century and a half after its foundation ; whilst the western 
branch lasted only fourteen years longer, and fell about 1270, under 
the power of the Mamluke sultans of Egypt." 

" It was far easier to root out their strong-holds than their 
principles," remarked Lathom. 

" It was so found by their conquerors : the mountains of Syria, 
especially, gave shelter to many of the society, and the tenets of the 
order are still believed to linger among a branch of the Koords. 
But come, we are wandering from our tales ; and if we do not leave 



CH. VIII.] THE ASSASSINS. 89 

off our remarks, Lathom will close the evening without another 
specimen of the old story-teller." 

" We have not yet heard the moral of the magician's garden," 
said Thompson. 

"The application is plain," replied Lathom: "the magician is 
the world ; the luxuries and beauties of his garden are the world's 
rewards and riches ; worldly people think that they have grasped its 
gifts ; anon, they open their hands, and find them empty." 

" But a short application, though over true," remarked Herbert. 
$ " I have rather condensed the old monk, and perhaps wrongly, 
as the latter part of his moral reminds me strongly of a passage in 
Gay's fables. 'The conjurer,' says the old monk, 'puts down a dish, 
but places nothing in it. Then he begins to prate and mock the 
spectators with fair words and long speeches. Soon he inquires 
of them, What is in the dish ? they look, and it is full of pennies. 
These he distributes among the bystanders ; with thanks they re- 
ceive his gifts, and eagerly close their hands on them ; anon, they 
open their hands, and lo, there is nothing.' " 

"You allude," said Herbert, "to Gay's lines, where he describes 
his conjurer performing his tricks : 

* Trick after trick deludes the train, 
He shakes his bag, and shews all fair, 
His fingers spread, and nothing there, 
Then bids it rain with showers of gold ; 
And now his ivory eggs are told.' " 

" Hardly so much," replied Lathom, " as the four lines where 
he says of fortune : 

' A purse she to the thief exposed ; 
At once his ready fingers closed. 
He opes his fist, the treasure's fled, 
He sees a halter in its stead.' 

And now," continued Lathom; "now for the original of Guy, Earl 
of Warwick." 

"The original of a romance, that was a celebrated piece in the 
time of Chaucer, and usually sung to the harp at Christmas dinners 
and bridals, is indeed a curiosity," remarked Herbert. 

" But how comes Sir Guy in the Latin stories ?" said Thompson ; 
" does not Bishop Percy say it was of English growth ?" 
i 2 



90 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" I cannot resolve the difficulty," answered Lathora : " we must 
admit that it was in French before the end of the 13th century; 
when it came into its Latin dress, must depend on that most difficult 
of all points, the date and authorship of my volume of stories. But 
come from where he will, you have here the story of the Champion 
of Warwick." 

J5tr <&uitio ti)c Cnts"attn\ 

Centuries have gone by since the court of the king of 
England was adorned by two valorous knights named Guido 
and Tyrius. Many a hard battle had they fought side by side 
against the enemies of their king, for the sake of the smiles of 
the fair ladies to whom they had dedicated themselves. After 
several years of brilliant deeds of daring and numerous perils, 
Sir Guido married the lady of his devotions. Happy were 
the early days of his marriage, for the knight and the lady 
loved each other greatly. One night Sir Guido saw a vision, 
as it were an angel of God talking with him, and he was 
afraid. 

Then said the angel, " Why sleepest thou, Sir Guido ? 
arise, put on thy arms, and fight for the holy cross." 

" Verily, Lord," replied Sir Guido, " much and often have 
I fought." 

" Yes," replied the angel, " much, often, and valiantly hast 
thou fought for the love of woman ; now fight for the love 
of God, the glory of the holy cross. Contend against God's 
enemies, as thou hast against those of men." 

With these words the vision faded away, and Sir Guido 
knew that he was called to battle in the Holy Land against 
the infidels. Then he turned to his wife and said : 

" Felicia, we must part, but for a time ; I am called to the 
Holy Land, to fight under the banner of the cross." 

" Alas, alas, my lord!" replied Felicia, clasping her hus- 
band in her arms, and weeping hot tears upon his neck ; 
"alas, and wilt thou leave me? death were to be preferred ; 
then welcome death !" 

As she spoke, she snatched up a dagger that lay beside her, 



CH. VIII.] SIR GUIDO THE CRUSADER. 91 

and would have killed herself, had not Sir Guido wrenched it 
from her grasp. 

" Felicia," said the knight, "be comforted; I am vowed 
to go to the Holy Land ; bear with it, my love ; it is but for 
a time ; be comforted." 

" God's will be done," murmured the lady. " Take th 
ring; and as often as you look upon it, in happiness or in 
misery, in joy or in woe, think of Felicia." 

Sir Guido gathered together his vassals, and his friend 
Sir Tyrius added his to those of Sir Guido ; and thus com- 
bined, they marched for the Holy Land, and journeyed by land 
and not by sea until they came to the borders of Dacia., a 
Christian country overrun by the infidels. 

" Brother," said Sir Guido, "go thou to the king of the 
country, and with thy good sword rescue his kingdom from 
the power of the Saracen ; I will proceed to the Holy Land, 
and when the foes of God are vanquished will rejoin you here, 
and so together we will return to England." 

" Even as you wish," said Sir Tyrius ; " I wiU await your 
return here." 

Thus did the friends separate. Sir Guido reached the 
Holy Land, and fought valiantly against the Saracens. Many 
and dire were his conflicts with the infidels ; but in all of them 
he bore aloft the Cross, and in his hands it never bowed before 
the Crescent. Every one spoke of his deeds of arms, of his 
charity, and of his kindness ; the minstrels made songs of his 
exploits, and spread his fame over the whole Christian world. 
Sir Tyrius, too, was successful in Dacia ; by his aid, the king 
regained his throne, and the infidels were driven from the 
kingdom. Rewards and thanks followed his successes; the 
king regarded him as the preserver of his throne, and con- 
sidered no rewards too great or too good for the Christian 
warrior. The rewards of the good are ever sources of envy 
to the wicked. So was it at the court of the Dacian king. 
The prosperity of Sir Tyrius was gall and wormwood to a 
knight of Dacia, Sir Plebeus, who, until the coming of this 
stranger, had been looked upon as the greatest warricr of the 



92 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

Dacian people. To envy succeeded hatred, to hatred false- 
hood. Treason, he insinuated, was in the mind ofTyrius; he 
aspired to the crown which he had recovered from the infidel. 

Alas, how easily do we credit falsehood ! how readily do we 
believe that every one is as wicked as ourselves ! The king 
believed the words of Plebeus. He called his preserver before 
him, charged him with treason, and upbraided him with in- 
gratitude. 

" Go," said he, " leave my court. I have honoured thee 
much, I would have honoured thee yet more. Now I give 
thee thy life, in return for the valiant blows you struck for 
me; go in peace, but in poverty." 

" Miserable creature that I am !" murmured Sir Tyrius ; 
" whither shall I flee in this my abject poverty ?" 

Sadly and slowly he wandered on, his eyes cast down, his 
hands crossed upon his breast : at last he sat down by the 
wayside. 

" Friend," said a tall pilgrim, whose care-worn look shewed 
how long he had been journeying ; " friend, whence comest 
thou?" 

" Father," replied Tyrius, "I am of Rome; years have I 
lived in this land, and now I seek another home. Years have 
past since my companion parted with me, but a few miles 
from here ; he sought the Holy Land ; and whether he be dead 
or alive, I know not." 

" Friend," replied the palmer, " I am wearied ; suffer me, 
by the memory of your friend I pray you, suffer me to repose 
my head on your knees, that I may sleep awhile." 

Tyrius pitied the poor pilgrim, and acceded to his request. 
The palmer's cloak was thrown over his face, so that he could 
distinguish but a portion of his features. 

As the palmer slept, of a sudden a weasel, small and white, 
leapt from out of his mouth, and ran to a neighbouring hill- 
side, where it entered a small hole ; after a time the creature 
returned, and appeared to enter into the mouth of the sleeping 
man. At that moment the palmer awoke. 

" Friend," said he to Tyrius, " I have dreamed a strange 



CH. VIII.] SIR GUIDO THE CRUSADER. 93 

dream. Methought a weasel, small, and white as snow, ran 
from out my mouth to a hole in yonder hill, and thence re- 
turning-, re-entered my open mouth." 

"Father," replied Tyrius, "it was no dream; so did it 
appear to me also, as I sat and watched you. What the weasel 
did in yonder hill I cannot conjecture." 

" Come, let us arise and look ; peradventure we may find 
some good treasure. Even as I thought," continued the 
palmer, when they entered the hole in the hill- side, that led 
to a large cave ; " see, a dragon dead, and filled with gold; 
the treasure he was thus guarding is our own ; ay, too, a 
sword. What do we read on its bright blade ? ' By me shall 
Guido overcome the enemies of Tyrius.' " 

u Alas, Guido !" said Tyrius, " where art thou, O my 
friend ?" 

" Come," said the palmer, "we will' divide the treasures : 
to you the piles of gold and jewels'; to me this sword." 

" To thee the sword of Guido !" exclaimed Tyrius ; " nay." 
"To me the sword of Guido," said the pilgrim, inter- 
rupting the knight in his words, and gradually raising the 
cowl of his dress from off his face. " Yes, to me, Tyrius." 

" Guido, my friend, my brother !" cried the knight, as he 
looked on the pilgrim's features. " And have we met, my 
brother ! It is enough, O my brother !" and the tears came 
in the eyes of both. 

" Courage, courage, Tyrius ; weep not, for I will do battle 
with your enemy ; with this sword will I beat down thy foes. 
Do you go to your own home, and leave me to deal with your 
traducers." 

The friends embraced and parted. Tyrius went to his 
home with his treasure, and Guido repaired to the Dacian 
king's palace. 

" Who art thou, and from whence ?" asked the porter, as 
Sir Guido knocked at the king's gate. 

" A humble pilgrim from the holy sepulchre." 
" Enter, father ; I crave thy blessing," said the porter, as 
he knelt before Sir Guido. 



94 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" Thou hast it, my son ; peace be on thee and this house. 
I seek the king." 

The king sat at meat, and all his nobles were round him. 

" Is the Holy Land at peace?" inquired the king, as the 
pilgrim entered. 

" At peace, my lord ! the holy sepulchre is delivered from 
the infidel." 

" Ho, give place ! sit, father ; bring wine and bread. Fa- 
ther, hast thou heard of a Christian knight named Guido?" 

" Both heard and seen him, my lord ; we have eaten of the 
same bread, and shared the same couch." 

" What say they of the Christian kings ?" 

" They say the Dacian king has regained his kingdom and 
crown by the aid of a brave knight of Rome, whom he pro- 
moted to great honour and riches." 

" They say true, sir pilgrim," said the king, on whose 
brow an angry spot began to shew. 

" They further say that thou, O king, hast driven away 
this good and brave knight, seduced by the malice of one Ple- 
beus, who has poisoned your royal ear with his falsehoods." 

" False pilgrim !" cried Plebeus, who stood by the king's 
chair; " false pilgrim, thou utterest lies, that thou darest not 
defend with thy life. That Tyrius was a traitor; he would 
have dethroned our king." 

" Sir knight," replied Guido, " I have both spoken the 
truth, and dare prove it. If thou art Sir Plebeus, and sayest 
Tyrius was a traitor, go to, thou art a liar; and by the king's 
leave, I will prove thy falsehood on thy body." 

" It is well," said the king ; <c let the wager of battle decide 
the truth ; and God defend the right !" 

" Give me, my lord, such arms as be necessary for the 
field, and the ordeal of battle shall prove the truth. Save this 
sword, I have no armour." 

" Be it so as you desire ; to-morrow, at noon, we will see 
this combat. Daughter, to thy care I commit this pilgrim 
knight ; see that he be forthcoming by to-morrow's noon." 

It was a bright day when the lists were prepared for the 



CH. VIII.] SIR GUIDO THE CRUSADER. 95 

contest. Before the hour appointed drew nigh, all the popu- 
lation of the royal city poured towards the scene of the ap- 
proaching combat. Some trusted to the known prowess of the 
Dacian knight ; others sided with the pilgrim, speculated upon 
who he was, and wished him success for the sake of Tyrius. 

" Haste thee, haste thee, sir pilgrim knight I" said the 
king's daughter ; "thy adversary even now stands in the lists, 
and exclaims, False pilgrim ! why tarriest thou ?" 

Sir Guido hastened to put on his armour, and to gird his 
sword about him. At noon the king entered the lists, the 
combatants took oath to the justice of their quarrel, and pre- 
pared to engage. Long and arduous was the battle ; Guido 
pressed upon his adversary so fiercely, that he thirsted almost 
to death. 

" Good pilgrim," he said, " if thou wilt courteously permit 
me to quench my thirst this once, I will do the like to thee, 
shouldst thou require it of me." 
" I consent," replied Guido. 

His thirst thus quenched, Plebeus renewed the combat 
with redoubled animation. At length Guido also thirsted, 
and claimed of his adversary his promise. 

" Go to, fool; you shall taste no water but by the strong 
hand," replied the Dacian. 

" By the strong hand, then," rejoined Guido, " be it so." 
With these words he made towards the water, guarding 
himself with his shield : as soon as he gained the edge of 
the pond, he jumped in, drank freely of the water, and rushed 
out refreshed and re-invigorated against his treacherous foe. 
His prowess and his courage alike deserted the Dacian, and he 
turned and fled. 

At that moment the king threw down his sceptre, and the 
combat closed for that day. 

The king's daughter led the knight to his chamber, bound 
up his wounds, tended him softly, prepared his evening meal, 
and smoothed his bed with her own hands : a deep sleep soon 
came over Sir Guido, for he was wearied with the exertions of 
the combat. 



96 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

"My sons/' said Plebeus to the seven stout warriors that 
called him father, "my sons, if to-morrow's sun sees yonder 
pilgrim in the lists, I die ; never yet did I meet so stout an 
opponent." 

" Fear not, sir," replied they all ; " we will take care of the 
pilgrim." 

Sir Guido slept heavily; at midnight his chamber-door was 

carefully opened, and the sons of Plebeus crept into the room. 
" He sleeps soundly," whispered the eldest : " how shall we 

dispose of him ? If we slay him here as he sleeps, what are we 

but dead men on the morrow ?" 

" Does not the sea flow beneath the window ?" 

" Yes ; but if we touch him he will wake." 

"Nay, let us take and throw him bed and all into the sea." 

Sir Guido slept on, and knew not what was plotting against 

him. 

It was midnight, and the moon shone brightly on the sea. 
A fisherman beneath the wall of the Dacian king's palace was 
casting his nets, when a sudden splash in the water arrested 
his attention. " Halloa !" said he to himself, " what villany 
is this ? a bed floating on the sea, and a man on it ? Ho, 
friend ! ho, I say ! awake, or be drowned !" 

" Where am I ?" exclaimed Sir Guido, as he awoke with 
the fisherman's clamour. " Help, friend, — I am sinking : I 
am the pilgrim that fought yesterday in the lists — thanks — 
thanks," he continued, as he reached the fisherman's boat; 
" but how got I here ?" 

" I hardly know : just now I heard a splash, looked round, 
and by the moon's light saw you and your bed floating on the 
water." 

" Ah, well, the treachery has failed, good friend ; to-morrow 
will confound the traitors." 

The morrow came in fair and bright; again the people 
hastened to the lists, eager to see the issue of this wondrous 



CH. VIII.] SIR GUIDO THE CRUSADER. 97 

combat. The king was seated, the lists were ready, and the 
heralds sounded. Then stept forth Sir Plebeus with his visor 
up, and a fair and smiling countenance. 

" My lord the king," said the Dacian champion, as he bowed 
before the king's throne, " I demand the combat with the pilgrim." 

" It is well, Sir Plebeus. Ho, herald ! go to my daughter, 
and demand of her the pilgrim knight." 

" The princess is even now coming to the royal presence," 
replied the herald, as the crowd formed a lane, through which 
the king's daughter was seen approaching her father's throne, 
with a meek and sorrowful aspect. 

" My child," said the Dacian king, " where is the pilgrim 
knight, the champion of Sir Tyrius ? we await his coming 
forth." 

" Father and dear lord," replied the maiden ; " I know not 
whither he is gone ; but last night I left him in deep sleep in 
his chamber, and now neither he nor his bed whereon he slept 
are to be found." 

" Cowardly boaster!" exclaimed Sir Plebeus, " dares he not 
meet me in the lists ? The coward has fled." 

" That is not so, my lord," exclaimed a poor man in the 
crowd ; " he has not fled." 

" Ah ! how say est thou ?" 

" Even now he sleeps at my hut; last night I found him 
floating on his bed beneath the palace-wall ; I took him into 
my boat, and he is safe." 

"Thou hast done well — summon him to the lists. Sir Ple- 
beus, you shall not be disappointed of your combat ; see, even 
now your adversary comes. Now, marshals, arm the stranger." 

■' Nay, my good lord," said the Dacian knight, " press not 
on the pilgrim — I pray you, my lord, give him time to recruit 
his strength." 

" Not for a minute, sir knight," exclaimed the pilgrim, as 
he entered the lists and hastened to don his armour; "not for 
a minute — I have much to reckon with you: remember last 
night." 

The combat was short; each knight struck twice without 



98 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

fatal effect ; the pilgrim's third blow ended the battle, and the 
Daciari rolled on the ground a headless corpse. 

" Sir pilgrim," said the king, as he knelt before the throne, 
" God has defended the right ; even now have I been told of 
the treachery of that senseless corpse, and of the villany of his 
sons towards thee ; they now are going to their reward — to 
death. Come, sir knight, for thy sake I restore Sir Tyrius, 
renew his honours, and add to them those which you so sted- 
fastly refuse. One boon I ask, before you leave our court and 
our kingdom ; disclose thy name ; let me and my people know 
to whom they owe the punishment of a traitor, and the defence 
of their best friend, their former preserver." 

" My lord/' replied the pilgrim, " my name is not unknown 
to you ; I am the knight of the Holy Land ; the Guido of 
whom men speak." 

Loud were the exclamations with which that famous name 
was hailed by the assembled Dacians, as their king fell on the 
pilgrim's neck, and embraced him as a brother. 

Seven years had passed since Guido left his castle and 
sailed for the Holy Land. Day by day did Felicia minister to 
the poor, and bestow alms on every applicant, with this one 
request, that they would pray for the safety of her husband 
Sir Guido, and that once more before her death she might re- 
joice in his presence. Felicia stood at her castle-gate, and the 
inner court-yard was filled with her poor pensioners. One by 
one she accosted them, and bade her almoner give to each his 
accustomed alms. Her young son ran by his mother's side. 

" Mother, dear mother," said the child, as he heard Felicia 
commend Sir Guido to the prayers of the poor men, " is it 
not my father for whom you ask these poor people to pray ?" 

" Yes, my child; seven years have passed since he left me : 
but a few months had we been married, before God summoned 
him to the Holy Land, and he took the cross, and went against 
the infidel." 

As she thus spake to her son, Felicia drew nigh to a tall 
pilgrim who stood apart from the rest of the poor people. She 
gave him the alms, and asked of him his prayers for her hus- 



CH. VIII.] SIR GUIDO THE CRlfSADER. 99 

band's return. Low bowed the pilgrim bis head, but not a 
word did he speak, as the lady passed onwards. Her son fol- 
lowed after Felicia : as he passed, the pilgrim bowed himself 
forward and embraced the youth. 

"God give thee grace," said he, with a trembling voice ; 
" God give thee grace to do His will!" 

" Thanks, father, for thy blessing," said Felicia ; " can I do 
aught to reward thy good wishes?" 

" Lady," said the pilgrim, in a low, stifled voice, " I crave 
the small hermitage below the eagle's rock ; there let me live 
and die." 

" Ha !" exclaimed Felicia, " the eagle's rock ; art thou of 
this place, good father, that thou knowest the name so well ?" 

" I was of thy people once, fair lady ; now I am God's 
poor servant." 

" Be it as thou desirest ; go, father, and pray for this house 
and its long-lost master." 

Those who could see the pilgrim's face, saw the tears start 
in his eyes, as he accepted Felicia's gift, and turned towards 
his lonely hermitage. Many years did he live there, many a 
time did he come to the castle-yard, and his daily companion 
was Felicia's child, Sir Guido's son. Day after day did he 
talk to him of adventures of knights in the Holy Land, of 
those that had fallen fighting for the sepulchre, and those who 
had passed through the fiery ordeal of that expedition. At 
last death came upon him. 

" Dear boy," said he to Sir Guido's son, " take this ring to 
thy mother, and bid her if she would see me ere I die, come 
hither quickly.", 

" Mother, dear mother," said the youth, when he entered 
Felicia's chamber, " the good pilgrim is sorely ill ; he sends you 
this ring, and bids you see him ere he die." 

Felicia cast one look upon the ring. " Haste, haste, my 
child," she exclaimed ; " it is my lord's your father's ring ; 
come, come to the forest." 

Quickly as she rushed to the hermitage, she found but the 
dead body of her husband. 

LOFC. 



100 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

"Woe, woe is me!'' she exclaimed, casting herself on the 
cold corpse ; " woe, woe is me ! where are now my alms ? My 
husband asked charity of me, and I knew him not ; thy father 
talked with thee, my child, he embraced thee, and thou knewest 
him not. O Guido ! thou didst look upon thy wife, and didst 
not tremble ; thou didst look upon thy child, and kissed him 
and blessed him ; alas, alas, my husband !" 



" I should be loath to agree with Percy, that so beautiful a tale 
should have been resigned to children," said Herbert, as soon as 
Lathom had concluded his version of the old tale. 

" No wonder that the pilgrimage of the warrior was such a fa- 
vourite with all nations, as to be claimed by nearly all as peculiarly 
their own," said Thompson. 

" It was very early translated into French, and is alluded to in a 
Spanish romance written somewhere about 1430. But now that, 
as the old ballad says, 

1 The story is brought to an end, 
Of Guy, the bold baron of price, 
And of the fair maid Felice/ 

we will conclude our evening with some account of its applications, 
as intended by the monk. Sir Guido was symbolical of our Saviour, 
Felicia of the soul, and Tyrius of man in general. By the weasel 
was meant the prophets, and especially the Baptist, as prophesying 
of the coming of the Saviour. The mountain is the world, the dead 
dragon the old law of Moses, and the gold within it the Ten Com- 
mandments. The sword represented authority, the seven deadly 
sins were symbolised in the sons of Plebeus, the good fisherman 
was the representative of the Holy Spirit, and the king's daughter 
the Blessed Virgin." 

" Come, Herbert, we are over our time : to work ; good night." 




CHAPTER IX. 

ILLUSTRATIONS OF EARLY MANNERS SORCERY THE KNIGHT AND THE 

NECROMANCER WAXEN FIGURES DEGENERACY OF WITCHES THE 

CLERK AND THE IMAGE GERBERT AND NATURAL MAGIC ELFIN 

CHIVALRY THE DEMON KNIGHT OF THE VANDAL CAMP SCOTT's 

MARMION ASSUMPTION OF HUMAN FORMS BY SPIRITS THE SE- 
DUCTIONS OF THE EVIL ONE RELIGIOUS ORIGIN OF CHARGES OF 

WITCHCRAFT. 

flHE attention of the king's daughter to the wounded 
knight," remarked Herbert, "reminds me strongly of 
the patriarchal habits described by Homer in his 
Odyssey. The daughter of Nestor thinks it no dis- 
grace to attend to the bath of the wandering Tele- 
machus ; and Helen herself seems to have performed a like office 
for his father." 

" The tales of chivalry are replete with instances of these simple 
manners," rejoined Lathom ; "the king's daughter, the fair virgin 
princess, is ever the kind attendant on the honoured guest, prepares 
his bath after the fatigues of the day, and ministers to his wounds 
by her medicinal skill." 

"Your old monks' tales," said Thompson, "have no little merit 
as illustrations of the manners and habits of the middle ages." 

" Indeed, the light is curious that is thrown by these tales on the 
habits of the middle ages," answered Lathom: "in these vivid and 
strongly delineated fictions, I seem to fight, to tilt, to make love and 
war, to perform penances, and to witness miracles with the actors 
themselves." 

" We cannot but feel, however," remarked Herbert, "that we 
are sometimes more inclined to laugh at the regulations of their 
chivalry, than to appreciate them. The penances with which ima- 
ginable crimes were visited in those days cannot but raise a smile ; 
whilst the carelessness with which enormous sins were committed 
excites extreme regret." 

" What fragrant viands furnish forth 
Our evening's entertainment?" 
said Thompson. 

K 2 



102 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" Some illustrations of witchcraft and sorcery ; that most pre- 
valent belief from the middle ages to the days of the sapient James 
the First." 

" Among all curious discoveries, this would be the most curious/' 
said Herbert, " to find a people in whom there never has existed a 
belief that human beings could be gifted with supernatural powers 
for the purpose of accomplishing some good or evil object of their 
desire." 

" Wherever Christianity spread, witchcraft must be regarded as 
a recognised form in which the powers of evil contended with the 
Almighty." 

" Of what sex is your witch?" asked Thompson. 

" Oh, in this case, the good and the bad sorcerers are both of the 
male sex." 

"Your writer, therefore," replied Thompson, "does not seem to 
have held the ungallant notions of Sprenger, that from the natural 
inferiority of their minds, and wickedness of their hearts, the devil 
always preferred women for his agents. But to the story." 

" Well then, as the old chronicler would say, here begins the 
tale of 

Clje Bmcrljt mrtf tje Necromancer. 

Among the knights that graced the court of the emperor 
Titus, there was one whom all men agreed in calling the good 
knight. For some years he had been married to one whose 
beauty was her fairest portion, for she loved not the knight 
her husband, but delighted in the company of others, and 
would gladly have devised his death, that she might marry 
another courtier. 

The good knight could not fail of discovering the wicked- 
ness of his wife. Ofttimes did he remonstrate with her ; but 
to all he said, she turned a deaf ear, and would not return the 
affection he felt for one so unworthy of his love. 

" My dear wife," said the good knight, " I go to the Holy 
Land to perform a vow ; I leave you to your own discretion.'' 

The knight had no sooner embarked, than the lady sent for 
one of her lovers, a clever sorcerer. 

" Know," said she to him, when he arrived at the house, 



CH. IX.] THE KNIGHT AND THE NECROMANCER. 103 

"my husband has sailed for the Holy Land; we will live 
together, ay, and for all our lives, if you will but compass, 
his death ; for I love him not." 

" There is danger," replied the necromancer ; " but for the 
sake of thee and thy love, I will endeavour to perform your 
wishes.'' 

Then took he wax and herbs gathered at dead of night in 
secret places, and unguents made of unknown ingredients, and 
moulded a figure of the good knight, inscribing it with his 
name, and placing it before him, against the wall of the lady's 
chamber. 

The good knight commenced his pilgrimage towards the 
Holy Land, and wist not what the lady and her lover were 
plotting against him and his dear life. As he descended to- 
wards the vessel in which he was to embark, he observed a 
man of some age, and of lofty and commanding stature re- 
garding him with interest. A long robe covered him, and its 
hood drawn over the face concealed in a great degree the 
features of the wearer. At last the old man approached the 
knight. " Good friend," said he, " I have a secret to com- 
municate to thee." 

"Say on, good father," rejoined the knight; "what 
wouldst thou with me?" 

" I would preserve thee from death." 

" Nay, father, that is in God's hands ; I fight not against 
His will." 

"To-day, then, thou diest; unless thou obeyest my com- 
mands ; and listen, the lover of thy unfaithful wife is thy 
murderer." 

" Good sir," replied the knight, " I perceive thou art a wise 
man ; what shall I do to escape this sudden death ?" 

" Follow, and obey me." 

Many and winding were the streets through which the 
good knight followed his mysterious guide. At last they 
reached a dark dismal-looking house, apparently without any 
inhabitant. The guide pressed his foot on the door-step, and 
the door slowly opened, closing again as the knight followed 



104 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

the old man into the house. All was darkness ; but the guide 
seized the knight's hand, and led him up the tottering stair- 
case to a large room, in which were many strange books, and 
figures of men and animals interspersed with symbolical em- 
blems of triangles and circles, whose meaning was known to 
that aged man alone. In the midst of the room was a table, 
on which burned a lamp without a wick or a reservoir of oil, 
for it fed on a vapour that was lighter than air, and was invi- 
sible to the eye. The old man spoke some words to the knight 
unknown ; in a moment the floor clave asunder, and a bath, on 
whose sides the same mystic symbols were written as on the 
walls of the room, arose from beneath. 

" Prepare to bathe," said the old man, opening a book on 
the table, and taking a bright mirror from a casket. 

No sooner had the knight entered the bath, than the old 
man gave him a mirror, and bid him look into it. 

" What seest thou ?" asked he of the knight. 

" I see my own chamber ; my wife is there, and Maleficus, 
the greatest sorcerer in Rome." 

" What does the sorcerer ?" 

" He kneads wax and other ingredients ; he hath made a 
figure of me, and written under it my name : even now he 
fastens it against the wall of my chamber." 

" Look again," said the old man ; " what does he ?'' 

" He takes a bow, he fits an arrow to the string ; he aims 
at the effigy." 

'* Look on ; as you love your life, when that arrow leaves 
the string, plunge beneath the water till you hear me call." 

" He shoots !" exclaimed the knight, as he dived below the 
water. 

" Come out ; look again at the mirror ; what seest thou ?" 

" An arrow is sticking in the wall, by the side of the figure. 
The sorcerer seems angry ; he draws out the arrow, and pre- 
pares to shoot again from a nearer place." 

" As you value your life, do as before." 

Again the good knight plunged, and at the old man's call 
resumed his inspection of the mirror. 



CH. IX.] THE KNIGHT AND THE NECROMANCER. 105 

" What seest thou now ?" asked the old man. 

"Maleficus has again missed the image; he makes great 
lamentations : he says to my wife, If I miss the third time, I 
die ; he goes nearer to the image, and prepares to shoot." 

" Plunge," cried the old man ; and then, after a time, 
" Raise thyself, and look again ; why laughest thou ?" 

" To see the reward of the wicked ; the arrow has missed, 
rebounded from the wall, and pierced the sorcerer ; he faints, 
he dies ; my wife stands over his body, and weeps ; she digs a 
hole under the bed, and buries the body." 

" Arise, sir knight ; resume your apparel, and give God 
thanks for your great deliverance." 

A year and more elapsed before the good knight returned 
from his pilgrimage. His wife welcomed him with smiles and 
every appearance of pleasure. For a few days the knight con- 
cealed his knowledge of his wife's conduct. At length he 
summoned all his and her kinsfolk, and they feasted in com- 
memoration of his return from his dangerous pilgrimage. 

"Brother," said the knight during the feast, "how is it 
that I neither hear nor see aught of Maleficus, the great 
magician ?" 

"He disappeared, we know not whither, the very day that 
you departed for your pilgrimage." 

" And where did he die ?" asked the knight, with a look at 
his wife. 

" We know not that he is dead," replied the guests. 

" How should a sorcerer die ?" asked the knight's wife with 
a sneer. 

" If not dead, why did you bury him ?" rejoined the knight. 

" Bury him ! what meanest thou, my lord ? I bury him !" 

" Yes; you bury him," said the knight calmly. 

"Brothers, he is mad," exclaimed the lady, turning pale 
and trembling. 

'* Woman," replied the knight, rising, and seizing the lady 
by the wrist, " woman, I am not mad. Hear ye all ; this 
woman loved Maleficus ; she called him here the day I sailed ; 
she devised with him my death ; but God struck him with that 



106 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

death he would have prepared for me, and now he lies buried 
in my chamber. Come, let us see this great wonder." 

The hiding-place of the body was opened, and the remains 
found where the knight had said. Then did he declare before 
the judges and the people the great crimes of his wife ; and the 
judges condemned her to death at the stake, and bade the exe- 
cutioner scatter her ashes to the four winds of heaven. 



" Few practices were more prevalent among the witches than 
that which your tale illustrates, of effecting the death of an enemy 
through the medium of an enchanted image of the person intended 
to be affected," said Herbert. 

"As old Ben Jonson sings: 

' With pictures full 
Of wax and wool, 
Their livers I stick 
With needles quick,'" 
said Thompson. 

"Yes," said Herbert; "it was a very approved method to melt 
a waxen image before the fire, under the idea that the person by it 
represented would pine away, as the figure melted ; or to stick pins 
and needles into the heart or less vital parts of the waxen resem- 
blance, with the hopes of affecting, by disease and pain, the portions 
of the human being thus represented and treated." 

" In one of the old ballad romances in which Alexander is cele- 
brated, we find a full account of the wondrous puppets of a king and 
magician named Nectabanus. I will read you the old verses. 

' Barons were whilhome wise and good, 
That this art well understood ; 
And one there was, Nectabanus, 
Wise in this art, and malicious ; 
When king or earl came on him to war, 
Quick he looked on the star ; 
Of wax made him puppets, 
And made them fight with bats {clubs) ; 
Anl so he learned Je vous (lis, 
Aye to cpiell his enemy 



CH. 1X.J WAXEN IMAGES. 107 

With charms and with conjurisons : 

Thus he assayed the legions 

That him came for to assail, 

In very manner of batail ; 

By clear candle in the night, 

He made each one with other fight.' " 

"No bad way," said Thompson, "of testing the advantage of 
that royal and national luxury, — war." 

"The rhymer makes his charms successful, especially in the case 
of one, king Philip, a great and powerful prince, who brought nine- 
and-twenty great lords to battle against Nectabanus. Once put 
into his charmed basin, the magician saw the end of the battle, the 
defeat and death of his enemy." 

"The old Romans had as much fear of the waxen image as good 
king James," remarked Herbert ; " and were as firm believers in 
the feats of Canidia over the enchanted model, as the Scottish king 
in the modelling of his national witches, and in the secret cavern on 
the hill, where Satan and his imps manufactured devils' arrows to 
shoot at the enemies of the witches." 

" ' Sympathia Magica works wondrous charms,' says Scott ; and 
so before him dreamt the Arabian philosophers, and the royal witch- 
finder, who founds his arguments against waxen images on the doc- 
trine of sympathy," said Thompson. 

"It is worth remarking," said Herbert, "how witchcraft de- 
generated, not in its powers, but in the persons of the supposed 
witches. Joan of Arc, the wife of the protector Somerset, the 
mistress of Richard III., were in early days deemed worthy of being 
punished as witches. In later days, the charge was confined to the 
oldest, the ugliest, and generally the poorest crone in the neigh- 
bourhood." 

" With the fashion of political witchcraft, the custom of charg- 
ing persons of rank with the crime died away," replied Lathom. 
" Instead of torturing images, or raising spirits for the sake of 
crowns and thrones, the witches became content to tease a neigh- 
bour's child, or render a farmer's cow barren. The last instance of 
such a charge against a person of rank is the case of the countess 
of Essex. The charges of sorcery, however, formed but a small 
portion of the accusations against the countess." 

"We are forgetting the moral," said Thompson. 



108 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

"It is short and plain," answered Lathom ; "and intended to 
be illustrative of the advantage of the confession of sins. The good 
knight is the soul of man, and his wicked wife the flesh of his body. 
The pilgrimage represents our good deeds. The wise magician, a 
prudent priest. Maleficus stands as the representative of the devil, 
and the image is human pride and vanity ; add to these the bath 
of confession, and the mirror of the sacred writings, by which the 
arrows of sin are warded off, — and the allegory is complete." 

"Does your storehouse afford another magical tale?" asked 
Thompson. 

" Many more ; I will read one that is short, but curious from 
its being founded on a generally received legend of the monk Ger- 
bert, afterwards pope Sylvester. I will call it, for want of a better 
name, 

€i)t Clerk antr tf;e tacje. 

In the city of Rome stood an image ; its posture was erect 
with the right hand extended ; on the middle finger of the 
outstretched hand was written, " strike here." Years and 
years had the image stood there, and no one knew the secret 
of the inscription. Many wise men from every land came and 
looked at the statue, and many were the solutions of the mys- 
tery attempted by them : each man was satisfied with his own 
conclusion, but no one else agreed with him. 

Among the many that attempted to unravel the mystery of 
the figure was a certain priest. As he looked at the image, he 
noticed that when the sun shone on the figure, the shadow of 
the outstretched finger was discernible on the ground at some 
distance from the statue. He marked the spot, and waited 
until the night was come ; at midnight he began to dig where 
the shadow ceased : for three feet he found nothing but earth 
and stones ; he renewed his labour, and felt his spade strike 
against something hard : he continued his work with greater 
zeal, and found a trap-door, which he soon cleared, and pro- 
ceeded to raise. 

Below the door, a flight of marble steps descended into the 
earth, and a bright light streamed upward from below. Cast- 
ing down his spa<!e, the priest descended. At the foot of the 



CK. IX.J THE CLERK AND THE IMA.GE. 109 

stairs he entered a vast hall : a number of men habited in 
costly apparel, and sitting in solemn silence, occupied the 
centre ; around, and on every side, were riches innumerable : 
piles of gold and enamelled vases ; rich and glittering robes, 
and heaps of jewels of the brightest hue. 

The hall was lighted by one jewel alone ; a carbuncle so 
bright, so dazzling, that the priest could hardly bear to gaze 
upon it, where it stood in a corner of the hall. At the oppo- 
site end of the hall stood an armed archer, his bow was strung, 
and the arrow fitted to the string, and he seemed to take* aim 
at the carbuncle ; his brow blazed with reflected light, and on 
it was written, "my shaft is inevitable: yon glittering jewel 
cannot escape its stroke." 

Beyond the great hall appeared another chamber, into which 
the priest, amazed at what he saw, entered. It was fitted as a 
bed-chamber, couches of every kind ornamented it, and many 
beautiful women, arrayed in robes as costly as those worn in 
the great hall, occupied the chamber. Here too all was mute ; 
the beautiful damsels sat in silence. 

Still the priest went onward. There were rooms after 
rooms, stables filled with horses and asses, and granaries 
stored with abundant forage. He placed his hand on the 
horses, they were cold, lifeless stone. Servants stood round 
about, their lips were closed — all was silent as the grave ; 
and yet what was there wanting — what but life ? 

" I have seen to-day what no man will believe," said the 
priest, as he re-entered the great hall ; " let me take something 
whereby to prove the credit of my story." 

As he thus spake to himself, he saw some vases and jewel- 
handled knives on a marble table beside him; he raised his 
hand, he clasped them, he placed them in the bosom of his 
garment — all was dark. 

The archer had shot with his arrow; the carbuncle was 
broken into a thousand pieces — a thick darkness covered the 
place ; hour after hour he wandered about the halls and 
passages — all was dark — all was cold — all was desolate ; the 
stairs seemed to have fled, he found no opening, and he laid 

L 



110 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

him down and died a miserable death, amid those piles of gold 
and jewels, his only companions the lifeless images of stone. 
His secret died with him. 






" Spenser, in his Fairy Queen, seems to have had some such tale 
as this in his mind, in his scene in the House of Riches," remarked 
Herbert. 

" You allude to the fiend watching Sir Gouyon, and hoping that 
he will be tempted to snatch some of the treasures of the subterra- 
neous palace, so freely displayed to his view.'' 

" Sir Gouyon fares better than your priest," replied Herbert ; 
" he resists the temptation, and escapes the threatened doom ; as 
the poet says, — 

' Thereat the fiend his gnashing teeth did grate, 
And grieved so long to lack his greedy prey ; 
For well he weened, that so glorious bait 
Would tempt his guest to take thereof assay ; 
Had he so done, he had him snatched away, 
More light than culver in the falcon's fist.' " 

"Pope Sylvester, I presume," said Thompson, "was a clever 
mechanician, and a good astronomer, as far as knowledge extended 
in his day." 

" Precisely so, and hence all the wondrous tales of his magic," 
rejoined Lathom. " Born in France, and naturally of an acquisi- 
tive mind, he proceeded to Spain, to gain, in the Saracenic univer- 
sity of Seville, some little of the eastern sciences. Arithmetic and 
astronomy, or, as Malmesbury calls the last, astrology, were then 
flourishing in Spain, and when introduced by him into his native 
country, soon gained for him the reputation of a magician." 

" Friar Bacon experienced in this country," remarked Herbert, 
" that a knowledge of mechanics sufficient to create automatons, of 
acoustics to regulate the transmission of sounds through long con- 
cealed pipes, and of astronomy to attempt some predictions of the 
weather from planetary movements, was quite enough to ensure him 
the name of magician among our rude ancestors." 

" One of the magic arts attributed to Gerbert," remarked La- 
thom, "clearly indicates, that a knowledge of mechanism was the 



CII. IX.] GERBERT AND NATURAL MAGIC. Ill 

source of this reputation in his case. Malmesbury tells us that 
Gerbert framed a bridge, beyond which were golden horses of 
gigantic size, with riders of gold, richly glittering with jewels and 
embroidery. A party attempted to pass the bridge, in order to 
steal the treasures on the farther side. As the first stept on the 
bridge, it rose gradually in the air, and stood perpendicularly on 
one end. A brazen man rose from beneath, and as he struck the 
water with a mace of brass, the sky was overshadowed, and all was 
thick darkness." 

"Setting aside the darkness," said Thompson, "the result of 
accident, or an addition of the chroniclers, a little clever mechanism 
will account for the movable bridge of Gerbert." 

" The same explanation applies to the ever-burning lamp of the 
Rosicrucians, held in the hand of a figure armed with a mace, with 
which he dashes the lamp to atoms, on the entry of any person into 
the secret vault." 

"Most undoubtedly, Herbert," said Thompson; "for in this 
instance, the legend describes the figure as raising its hand at the 
first step of the intruder, preparing to strike as he draws nearer and 
nearer, and at last, when almost within reach, the secret springs on 
which he is walking dash down the armed hand of the figure, and 
the lamp and the secret perish in darkness." 

"The tales of natural magic," said Herbert, " remind me of the 
legends of one of the James's of Scotland, in the subterraneous 
cavern of Halidon Hill." 

" I hardly know to what legend you allude," replied Lathom. 

" The one in which the king enters a long hall, where a hundred 
knights stand on either side, each with his armour on, and his horse 
ready caparisoned by his side. At the end of the hall stand a 
bugle and sword. All is silence ; the knights stand as statues, and 
their war-horses do not seem to breathe. The whole charm de- 
pends upon which is performed first, the bugle blown, or the sword 
drawn from its scabbard. The king seizes the bugle : the effect is, 
that the whole melts into darkness, and the charm is gone." 

" As you have led the way to traditions of the northern part o f 
our island," said Lathom, " one form, if not the original one, of the 
legend which Scott has worked up in his Marmion will not be out 
of place. I allude to the encounter of Marmion with De Wilton, 
under the guise of the spectral champion of the Pictish camp." 



112 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

"Your old monk's book would have been a treasure to Sir 
Walter Scott," said Herbert. 

" That he would duly have appreciated its contents, no one can 
doubt," replied Lathom ; "but he was so well read in the later 
forms of the legends which he would have found in its pages, that 
though apparently unknown to him, he required but little of its aid. 
Our writer would wish his readers or hearers to see in this legend 
an allegory of the discomfiture of the devil armed with pride, by 
the Christian armed with faith. I will call it by the name of 

CIjc Demon i&mgjt of tlje 2Fanoal Camp. 

On the borders of the diocese of Ely stands an old castle, 
now crumbling into ruins, below which is a place called by 
the people Wandlesbury ; commemorating by this name the 
camp of the Vandals, which they pitched hard by this castle, 
after laying waste the country and cruelly slaughtering the 
inhabitants. The camp was on the summit of a hill, on a 
round plain : round about it ran a trench, which 

" The Vandal race 

long since in blood did trace. 

The moor around was brown and bare, 
The space within was green and fair, 
The spot the village children knew, 
Tor there the wild flowers earliest grew ; 
But woe betide the wandering wight 
That treads its circle in the night ! 
The breadth across, a bowshot clear, 
Gives ample space for full career ; 
Opposed to the four points of heaven, 
By four deep gaps was entrance given." 

Woe indeed to the adventurous man who dared to go armed 
into that camp, and call upon an adversary to meet him. Even 
as he called, another knight rode into the camp, armed at all 
points, and met the challenger in combat. The encounter was 
always fatal to one of the combatants. 

The knight Albert sat in the hall of the castle of Wandles- 
bury, and shared the hospitality of the lord. At night, after 



CH. IX.] THE DEMON KNIGHT OF THE VANDAL CAMP. 113 

supper, the household closed round the great fire, and each 
man in his turn told some tale of arms, love, or sorcery. The 
demon knight of the Vandal camp figured in many a tale, and 
Albert hastened to prove the truth of the legend. It was in 
vain that the lord of the castle endeavoured to dissuade his 
guest from seeking the phantom knight. Armed at all points, 
the English knight sallied from the castle-gate ; and his trusty 
squire, a youth of noble blood, rode by his master's side. 

Some hours passed : the hall was sadly silent during the 
knight's absence, for they all feared the worst for him ; anon, 
a horn was heard at the gate, the warder hastened to open the 
doors, and the knight rode into the castle- court ; his squire 
followed him close, and he led by the bridle a horse of perfect 
form and figure, of enormous size, and coal black. 

The knight hastened to the hall : all clustered round him 
to hear his tale ; but the good lord of the castle bade them first 
release him of his armour, and bring in refreshment. One by 
one the pieces of his armour were taken off, and neither wound 
nor bruise appeared ; at last they proceeded to take off one of 
his cuishes : it was filled with blood, and even then a few drops 
were seen to ooze from a slight wound in the thigh. His 
wound drest, his fatigue refreshed with good wine and meat, 
the lord of the castle requested the knight's account of his 
meeting with the demon champion. 

" My lord," replied the English knight, " you know how, 
in despite of your earnest remonstrances, I rode from you 
castle- gate. The moon was bright and clear, and I soon reached 
the entrance of the Vandal camp ; without a pause I rode in, 
and blew my bugle. 

' Methought an answer met my ear, — 
Yet was the blast so low and drear, 
So hollow, and so faintly blown, 
It might be echo of my own.' 

I waited for a moment in doubt, 

' Then sudden in the ring I view, 
In form distinct, of shape and hue, 
A mounted champion rise.' 



114 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

Without a word, the demon prepared for the charge ; I raised 
my shield, couched my lance, and rushed to the attaint : we 
both staggered with the charge ; our lances broke in half, but 
the points glided harmlessly from our armour. I still pressed 
on, and my adversary's horse stumbled and fell : the demon 
Mas rolled on the ground. In a moment I was by his side, and 
seized his horse's rein ; the demon seemed to revive ; he saw 
my action, snatched a portion of his broken lance, and darted 
it at me as a javelin. It struck me on my thigh, but in m} 
eagerness I felt it not. In a moment 

' He seem'd to vanish from my sight : 
Ihe moonbeam dropp'd, and deepest night 
Sunk down upon the heath.' 

Had I not that dark black horse as a witness of the combat, I 
should begin to doubt whether I had met the demon." 

"Let us see the demon's steed," said the old lord, after 
he had thanked the knight for his relation of the adventure ; 
" even now the dawn is about to break, and we must seek some 
little rest before day shines out." 

In the court-yard they found the black steed ; his eye 
lustrous, his neck proudly arched, his coat of shining black, 
and a glittering war-saddle on his back. The first streaks of 
the dawn began to appear as they entered the castle-yard ; the 
black steed grew restless, and tried to break from the hands of 
the groom ; he champed his bit, snorted as in pain and anger, 
and struck the ground with his feet until the sparks flew. The 
cock crowed — the black steed had disappeared. 

Every year, on the self-same night, at that self-same hour, 
did the wound of the English knight burst out afresh, and tor- 
ment him with severe anguish ; to his dying day lie bore this 
memorial of his encounter with the demon champion of the 
Vandal camp. 



" You have made good use of Scott's version of the tale in Mar- 
mion," said Thompson, " to whom I should think your version of 
the story was hardly known." 



CH. IX.] THE SEDUCTIONS OF THE EVIL ONE. 115 

" No ; if I remember rightly he gives the old Durham tale of 
Ralph Buhner as its immediate source, and the strange tale of the 
Bohemian Knights, as related by Hey wood, in his ' Hierarchie of 
the Blessed Angels.' " 

"The introduction to the story recalls the custom so adroitly 
used by Chaucer to introduce his Canterbury tales," remarked Her- 
bert ; " tale-telling round the fire." 

"When there was neither juggler nor minstrel present/' replied 
Lathom, " it seems to have been the custom of our ancestors to 
entertain themselves by relating or hearing a series of adventures/' 

" So that Chaucer's plan, at first sight so ingenious an invention, 
is in truth an equally ingenious adaptation of an ancient fashion." 

"But to return to our demonology," said Lathom : "what no- 
tion was more common than that spirits could assume the human 
form, and live on earth, and mingle as mortals in social life ? This 
belief we find illustrated by the author or authors of the Gesta." 

" The stay, however, of these spirits is generally but a lease of 
life for so many years," remarked Herbert. 

" Generally ; but not in the case which my author relates under 
the title of 

Cfje dettucttoiul of tlje 4£bil ©tie. 

It often happens that the devils are permitted to transform 
themselves into angels of light, or to assume the human form, 
in order to foster in human hearts whatever is wicked. So did 
it happen in France, when Valentine was bishop of Aries. 

On the very borders of his diocese stood a knight's castle, 
with lofty and strong battlements. The knight had travelled 
in many lands, and seen many nations, that none others had 
looked upon or heard of. He was a good man, and a constant 
attendant on the services of the Church. His wife was very 
fair to look upon; her figure was light and tall; her face 
delicately white, and her eyes ever bright, and sparkling with 
almost unearthly brilliancy. Attracted by cries of distress, 
whilst on one of his distant pilgrimages, he had hastened into 
a dark wood, where he discovered this fair lady, almost denuded 
of her garments, bound to a tree, and being beaten with rods 
by two men of fierce countenances and powerful frames. 



116 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

His sword flashed in the air as the knight rode against the 
men : with one blow he struck down the nearest of the lady's 
torturers ; with the second, he pierced the breast of the other 
monster ; whilst with a third stroke of his trenchant blade, he 
cut in pieces the cords that bound the lady to the tree. 

The lady's tale was simple ; she was the daughter of a 
powerful prince of a far-off land ; had been seized by those in 
whose hands the knight discovered her ; carried for days and 
months over seas and lands, and at last bound to the tree and 
scourged because she would not yield to the desires of her tor- 
mentors. She knew not where her father's kingdom lay, and 
its name was unknown even to the knight, though he had tra- 
velled far and often. 

After a time, the knight married the lady of the wood : 
happy were they by their union, for he loved her dearly, and 
the lady seemed to return his love. One thing alone grieved 
the good knight. Every day that she came to the service of 
the Church, she stayed no longer than the beginning of the 
consecration of the Elements of the Sacraments. Often and 
often had the good knight remonstrated with his wife on her 
conduct, and sought from her some reason for her action. 
There was ever some excuse, but it was always unsatisfactory. 

One holiday the knight and the lady were at church. The 
priest was proceeding to the celebration of the Sacrament, and 
the lady rose as usual. 

" Nay," said the knight, forcibly arresting his wife's de- 
parture ; " nay, not for this once." 

The lady struggled, her eyes gleamed with redoubled bril- 
liancy, and her whole body seemed wrung with violent pain. 

" In the name of God, depart not !" said the knight. 

That holy name was all-powerful. The bodily form of 
the lady melted away, and was seen no more ; whilst, with a 
cry of anguish and of terror, an evil spirit of monstrous form 
rose from the ground, clave the chapel roof asunder, and dis- 
appeared in the air. 

u Such stories might be multiplied by hundreds," said Herbert. 



CH. IX.] THE SEDUCTIONS OF THE EVIL ONE. 117 

" Every country has its good and evil angels, that live among men 
and assume their forms." 

"It illustrates the curious fact," remarked Lathom, "that the 
earliest accusations of sorcery in Christian ages are connected with 
relapses from the faith of Christ. The Anglo-Saxon laws against 
witchcraft are levelled against those who still adhered to the heathen 
practices of their ancestors, or sought to combine the pure faith of 
the Bible with the superstitions of their ancestral idolatry." 

" Was not such the fact in the south of Europe ?" said Herbert : 
" the still lingering worship of the gods and goddesses of the woods 
was visited as sorcery. The demons do but occupy their places, 
under forms, and with opinions, gradually adapted to the religious 
opinions of the age." 

" Many a secret meeting for the worship of God has been made 
the foundation of the mysteries of a witch's sabbath," said Lathom ; 
" sorcery was a common charge against the early Christians when 
they met in their secret caves and hiding-places ; and it has been 
an equally current accusation since. — But we must beat a truce, 
and be content to leave the rest of our illustrations of natural 
magic, witchcraft, and demoniacal agency until our next meeting." 

" Good night, then," said Thompson ; " remember the witches' 
time of night approaches — 

' The owl is abroad, the bat, and the toad, 
And so is the cat- a-mountain ; 
The ant and the mole set both in a hole, 
And the frog peeps out of the fountain.* ** 




L^ ■ 



CHAPTER X. 

THE TALE OF THE THREE MAXIMS • — THE OLD MONk's ERRORS IN 

HISTORY TALE OF THE TRIALS OF EUSTACE SOURCES OF ITS 

INCIDENTS CONVERSION OF COLONEL GARDINER LEGEND OF ST. 

HUBERT EARLY ENGLISH ROMANCE OF SIR ISUMBRAS. 

^IFHAT marvellous tale of sorcery are we to be regaled 
with to-night ?" asked Thompson, when the tenth 
evening with the old story-tellers came round. 

"We must adjourn that subject for to-night ; for I 
' have chanced on a point, in illustration of one of the 
tales intended for this evening's reading, that will require another 
day's looking up." 

"Are we to go to bed supperless, then?" 

" No, no ; not quite : here are two specimens, that will both 
amuse, and, I hope, instruct us. To those who remember the 
Turkish tales, and have not forgotten the story of ' the King, the 
Sofi, and the Surgeon,' the three maxims of Domitian will hardly 
appear a novelty. But without further preface, I will commence 
the monk's account of the three maxims, for each of which Domi- 
tian thankfully gave a thousand florins." 

€l;e Cljvte Plajttmg. 

There was an emperor of Rome named Domitian, a good 
and wise prince, who suffered no offenders to escape. There 
M r as a high feast in his hall, the tables glittered with gold 
and silver, and groaned with plenteous provision : his nobles 
feasted with him — 

" And 'twas merry with all 
In the king's great hall, 

Wheo his nobles and kinsmen, great and small, 
Were keeping their Christmas holyday." 

The porter in his lodge made his fire blaze brightly, and solaced 



CH. X.] THE THREE MAXIMS. 119 

himself with Christmas cheer ; every now and then grumbling 
at his office, that kept him from the gaieties of the retainers' 
hall. The wind blew cold, the sleet fell quick, as the bell of 
the king's gate sounded heavy and dull. 

" Who comes now ?" grumbled the porter ; " a pretty night 
to turn out from fire and food. Why, the very bell itself finds 
it too cold to clank loudly. Well, well — duty is duty : some 
say it's a pleasure — humph! Hilloa, friend, who are you? 
what do you want, man ?" 

The traveller whom the porter thus addressed was a tall, 
weather-beaten man, with long white hair that fluttered from 
beneath his cap of furs, and whose figure, naturally tall and 
robust, seemed taller and larger from the vast cloak of bear- 
skins with which he was enveloped. 

"I am a merchant from a far country," said the man; 
f* many wonderful things do I bring to your emperor, if he 
will purchase of my valuables." 

" Well, come in/ come in, man," said the porter ; " the 
king keeps high Christmas feast, and on this night all men may 
seek his presence. Wilt take some refreshment, good sir ?" 

"lam never hungry, nor thirsty, nor cold." 

"I'm all — there — straight before you, good sir — the hall- 
porter will usher you in — straight before," muttered the old 
porter, as he returned to his fire and his supper. " Never 
hungry, thirsty, nor cold — what a good poor man he would 
make ! — humph! he loses many a pleasure though," continued 
the porter, as he closed the door of the lodge. 

The strange merchant presented himself to the hall-porter, 
and was ushered by him into the presence of the emperor. 

" Who have we here ?" said Domitian, as the strange visitor 
made his obeisance. " What seekest thou of me ?" 

" I bring many things from far countries. Wilt thou buy 
of my curiosities ?" 

"Let us see them," rejoined Domitian. 

" I have three maxims of especial wisdom and excellence, 
my lord." 

" Let us hear them." 



120 



ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 



" Nay, my lord ; if thou nearest them, and likest not, then 
I have lost both my maxims and money." 

" And if I pay without hearing them, and they are useless, 
I lose my time and my money. What is the price ?" 

"A thousand florins, my lord." 

" A thousand florins for that of the which I know not what 
it is !" replied the king. 

" My lord," rejoined the merchant, " if the maxims do not 
stand you in good stead, I will return the money." 

" Be it so, then : let us hear your maxims." 

" The first, my lord, is on this wise : Never begin any 

THING UNTIL YOU HAVE CALCULATED WHAT THE END WILL 
BE." 

"I like your maxim much," said the king; " let it be 
recorded in the chronicles of the kingdom, inscribed on the 
walls and over the doors of my palaces and halls of justice, 
and interwoven on the borders of the linen of my table and my 
chamber." 

" The second, my lord, is : Never leave a highway for 

A BY-WAY." 

"I see not the value of this maxim : but to the third." 
" Never sleep in the house where the master is an 

OLD MAN AND THE WIFE A YOUNG WOMAN. These three 

maxims, if attended to, my lord, will stand you in good stead." 
" We shall see," said the king ; " a year and a day for 
the trial of each, at the end of this time we will settle ac- 
counts." 

" Good master," said the king s jester, " wilt sell thy chance 
of the thousand florins for my fool's cap ?" 

" Wait, and see what the end will be," rejoined the mer- 
chant ; " a year and a day hence I will return to see how my 
first maxim lias fared. Farewell, my lord." . . 

The year and a day were nearly elapsed, and yet the first 
maxim had not been clearly proved. Domitian remained se- 
verely just, and the ill-intentioned of his nobles plotted his 
destruction, in the hopes of indulging their vices more freely 



CH. X.] THE THREE MAXIMS. 121 

under the rule of his successor. Many were the plots they 
concocted to put him to death, but all were foiled by his fore- 
sight and prudence. 

" Every failure," said the conspirators at a midnight meet- 
ing, " brings danger nearer to ourselves." 

" Even so, brothers ; but this time we will not fail," said 
one of the number; "do ye not mind that I am the king's 
barber ; every day he bares his throat to my razor — it is but 
one slash, and we are free : promise me the crown ; in return 
for this, I will give you freedom by the king's death, and free 
license during my reign." 

" It is well spoken," cried all the conspirators ; " the barber 
shall be our king." 

On the next morning, the barber entered the chamber of 
Domitian, and prepared to shave the king. The razor was 
stropped, the lather spread upon the royal chin, and the towel 
fastened round the royal breast. On the edge of the napkin 
were these words in letters of gold, " Never begin any thing 
until you have calculated what the end will be." 

The barber's eye fell on these words, they arrested his 
attention, he paused in his labours. 

" What am I about to do ?" thought he to himself ; " to kill 
the king, to gain his crown ; am I sure of the crown ? shall I 
not rather be slain miserably, and die amid unheard-of tortures 
and infamy ? whilst those that plot with me will turn against 
me, and make me their scape-goat." 

" Art dreaming, sir barber ?" exclaimed the king. 

At the king's voice, the barber trembled exceedingly; he 
dropt the razor from his hand, and fell at his sovereign's feet. 

" What means all this ?" 

" Oh, my good lord !" exclaimed the barber, as he knelt 
trembling at Domitian's feet, " this day was I to have killed 
thee ; but I saw the maxim written on the napkin : I thought 
of the consequences, and now repent me of my wickedness. 
Mercy, my good lord, mercy !" 

" Be faithful, and fear not," replied the king. 

" The merchant, my lord the king," said a serv nt of the 

M 



122 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

chamber, who entered at that moment, followed by the old 
merchant. 

" Thou art come at a good time, sir merchant : the first 
maxim has been proved ; it has saved my life ; it was worthy 
of its price." 

" Even as I expected, my lord ; a year and a day hence, 
expect me again." 

" We will trust no more to a single hand," said one of the 
conspirators, when they met again after the barber's repent- 
ance ; " this time we will all share." 

" I propose," said one of the rebel lords, " an ambush on 
the road to Naples. Every year, on the day after Christmas, 
the king journeys thither ; the by-path near to the city-gates 
is the nearest road, peradventure he will go that way." 

When the Christmas night was over, the king prepared 
to journey to Naples ; a great company of nobles, knights, and 
men-at-arms, went with him. Not far from the city, he came 
to the place where the highway and a by-path diverged. 

" My lord," said an old noble, " the day is far spent, the 
sun sinks fast in the horizon ; will not my lord turn by the 
by-path, as it is far shorter than the high road ?" 

"Nay," said the king, "it's a year and a day since the 
merchant's first maxim saved my life ; now will I test the 
second admonition, ' Never leave a highway for a by-way ;' but 
go part of ye by that path, and prepare for me in the city ; I 
and the rest will pursue the highway." 

Onward rode the knights and the soldiers by the by-path, 
and hastened towards the city : as they neared the ambush, 
the traitors sprang upon them, for they thought the king was 
among them. Every man slew his opponent ; and there re- 
mained not one of the king's company, to bear the tidings to 
the king, but a youth, a little page whom the conspirators did 
not remark during the attack. 

At the city-gates the king found the merchant who had 
sold him his maxims. " Unit, () king!" said he, '*■ the second 
maxim has been proved." 



CH. X.] THE THREE MAXIMS. 123 

" How so ?" replied the king. 

«' The company that rode by the by-path are slain, every 
one of them, save this little page, who is here to tell the sad 
tale." 

" Is this so, good youth ?" 

" Alas, my lord, it is too true ! From behind the trees they 
rushed upon our company as we rode lightly and merrily ; and 
no one, save your poor page, lives to tell the tale." 

" For a second time is my life saved by thy maxim ; let it be 
inscribed in gold, ' never leave a highway for a by-way.' " 

" For a year and a day, O king, fare thee well." 

" A murrain on the fool's maxims !" grumbled the chief 
of the conspirators, when they discovered that the king had 
escaped their wicked design ; " we are beaten out of every 
plot, and had best submit to his dominion." 

" Nay," exclaimed a young and licentious noble, " there 
is luck in odd numbers ; let us have one more trial, a sink or 
a swim." 

" I care not if we try once more," said the old rebel ; " but 
come, who suggests a scheme ?" 

" I, and I, and I !" exclaimed several at once ; but their 
schemes were pronounced futile. 

" What say ye to this ?" said the young man who had 
spoken before : " every year the king goes to the small village 
town, where his old nurse lives : there is but one house in the 
village where he can be lodged ; let us bribe the master of the 
house, that he slay our tyrant while he sleeps." 

The plan was approved by the rebel lords, the bribe offered 
and accepted by the old man, to whose house the king always 
came. The king came as usual to the village town, and to his 
old lodgings. As he entered, the old man received him with 
humility and feigned delight ; and a young damsel, not eighteen 
years of age, attended at the door-step. The king noticed the 
damsel, he arrested his steps, and called to the old man. 

" Good father," asked he, " is yonder damsel thy daughter, 
or thy niece ?" 



124 AXCIEXT MORAL TALES. 

" Neither, my lord," replied the old man ; " she is my 
newly-married wife." 

" Away, away," said the king to his chamberlain ; " prepare 
me a bed in another house, for I will not sleep here to-night." 

" Even as my lord wishes," rejoined the chamberlain ; " but 
my lord knows there is no other house in this place fit for a 
king's residence, save this one ; here every thing is prepared, 
every thing commodious." 

" I have spoken," replied the king ; " remain thou here ; 
I will sleep elsewhere." 

In the night, the old man and his wife arose, stole on tip- 
toe to the chamber which was prepared for the king, and where 
the chamberlain now slept in the royal bed ; all was dark as 
they approached the bed, and plunged a dagger into the breast 
of the sleeping noble. 

" It is done," said they ; " to bed ; to bed." 

Early the next morning, the king's page knocked at the 
door of the humble abode where the king had passed the 
night. 

" Why so early, good page ?" asked the king. 

"My lord, the old merchant waits thy rising ; and even 
now strange news is come from the village." 

" Let the merchant and the messenger come in." 

The merchant seemed greatly elated, his eye glistened with 
joy, and his figure appeared dilated beyond its ordinary height. 
The messenger was pale and trembling, and staring aghast 
with fear. 

" My lord, my good lord," exclaimed the pallid messenger, 
" a horrible murder has been committed on your chamberlain ; 
he lies dead in the royal bed." 

" The third maxim is tried and proved," said the merchant. 

"Give God the praise," said the king; "thy reward is 
earned ; a robe of honour, and thrice thy bargained price ; to 
the old man and his wife immediate death." 



' What theological application docs the author append to this 



CH. X.] THE TRIALS OF EUSTACE. 125 

clever tale ?" said Herbert, " for moral it wants not, as it tells its 
own." 

" The emperor is any good Christian ; the porter none other 
than free will; whilst the merchant represents our blessed Saviour. 
The florins are virtues, given in exchange for the maxims — the grace 
and favour of God. The conspirators are devils ; the highway is 
the Ten Commandments ; the by-way, a bad life ; the rebels in 
ambush, heretics." 

" So far as it goes, I do not object to the explanation ; it re- 
quires great additions, however," replied Herbert. 

" Which the author considered to be compensated for, by adding 
more characters than the tale contained, in several of his other ex- 
planations. '' 

" Domitian is obliged to the old monk," said Thompson, " for 
such a pretty character of justice and mercy." 

" See again the system of compensation ; in the next story 
Adrian is as much traduced, as Domitian flattered in this. But, 
remember, the old monk was writing neither histories nor bio- 
graphies ; any name that occurred to him served his purpose ; he 
looks more to the effect of his incidents than to the names of his 
characters. Let me now give you 

€f)e Criatsi of lEuStace. 

When Trajan was emperor of Rome, Sir Placidus, a knight 
of great prowess, and a most skilful commander, was chief of 
the armies of the empire. Like his imperial master, he was 
merciful, just, and charitable, but a worshipper of idols, a 
despiser of the Christian faith. His wife was worthy of his 
virtues, and was of one accord with him in his religion. Two 
sons had he, educated in all the magnificence that befitted their 
father's station ; but, as was to be expected, the faith of the 
parents was the faith of their children, — they were idolaters. 

It was a fair soft day, the southerly wind blew lightly over 
the meadows, and the fleecy clouds, ever and anon obscuring 
the sun, proclaimed the hunters' day. Sir Placidus rode to 
the chase. His friends and his retainers were with him, and 
a right gallant company were they. A herd of deer was soon 
m 2 



126 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

bound, the dogs loosed from their leashes, the bugles sounded, 
and the whole of the company in full and eager pursuit. One 
stag, of lofty stature and many-branching antlered head, se- 
parated itself from the rest of the herd, and made for the 
depths of the neighbouring forest. The company followed the 
herd, but Sir Placidus gave his attention to the noble animal, 
and tracked it through the mazes of the wood. 

Swift and long was the chase. Sir Placidus rode after the 
stag, ever gaining just near enough to the noble animal to 
inspire him with a hope of its ultimate capture, yet never so 
near as to strike it with his hunting spear. On, on they went 
with untiring speed. The wood and its thickets were passed, 
a lofty hill rose to the view. He pressed the stag up its sides, 
and gained rapidly on the chase. In a moment the stag 
turned and faced the knight; he prepared to strike, but his 
hand was stayed as he saw between the horns of the creature 
a cross encircled with a ring of glorious light. Whilst he 
mused on the wonder, a voice addressed him. The stag 
seemed to speak thus to the knight : 

" Why persecutest thou me, Placidus ? for thy sake have 
I assumed this shape ; I am the God whom thou ignorantly 
worshippest ; I am Christ. Thine alms and thy prayers have 
gone up before me, and therefore am I now come. As thou 
dost hunt this stag, even so will I hunt thee." 

Placidus swooned at these words, and fell from his horse. 
How long he lay on the ground he knew not. When his 
senses returned, he cried in anguish : 

" Tell me Thy will, O Lord, that I may believe in Thee, 
and perform it." 

Then replied the voice, " I am Christ, the Son of the living 
God. I created heaven and earth, caused the light to arise, 
and divided it from the darkness. I appointed days, and sea- 
sons, and years. I formed man out of the dust of the earth, 
and for his sake took upon me his form. Crucified and buried, 
on the third day I arose again." 

"All this I believe, Lord," replied Placidus; "yea, and 
that thou art lie who bringest back the wandering sinner." 



CH. X.] THE TRIALS OF EUSTACE. 127 

Then said the voice, " If thou believest, go into the city 
and be baptised." 

" Shall I reveal this unto my wife and children, Lord, that 
they also may believe ?" 

"Yea," replied the voice; "return here on the morrow's 
dawn, that thou mayest know of thy future life." 

Placidus returned to his wife, and told her all that had hap- 
pened unto him ; then did they believe, and were baptised, 
and their children with them. The knight was called Eustace, 
his wife Theosbyta, whilst to his two sons the names of Theos- 
bytus and Agapetus were given in their baptism. On the 
morrow, the knight returned to the place where he had seen 
the vision. 

" I implore Thee, O Lord, to manifest Thyself according to 
Thy word," prayed the knight. 

Then the voice was heard, saying, " Blessed art thou, 
Eustace, in that thou hast been washed with the laver of 
my grace, and thereby overcome the devil. Now hast thou 
trodden him to dust, who beguiled thee. Now will thy fidelity 
be shewn; for he whom thou hast forsaken will rage con- 
tinually against thee. Many things must thou undergo for 
my sake. Thou must become another Job ; fear not ; perse- 
vere ; my grace is sufficient for thee. In the end thou shalt 
conquer ; choose, then, whether thou wilt experience thy trials 
in thine old age, or forthwith." 

" Even as Thou wiliest, O Lord ; yet, if it may be so, try 
me now, and help me in my trial." 

"Be bold, Eustace; my grace can support you." With 
these words, the voice died away, and was no more heard ; and 
Eustace, after prayer and praise to God, rose from his knees, 
and returned to his own house. 

But a few days had elapsed ere the trials of Job came upon 
Eustace and his family. Pestilence carried off his flocks and 
his herds, and his servants fled away, or died with their 
charges. Robbers plundered his palace, driving away the 
knight, his wife, and his sons, in poverty and nakedness. It 
was in vain that the emperor sought every where for the 



12 S ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

knight, for not the slightest trace of him could anywhere be 
found. 

At length the unhappy fugitives, covered with such rags as 
they could obtain, reached the sea- shore, and besought a pas- 
sage across the waters. The captain of the vessel was capti- 
vated with the beauty of Theosbyta, and consented to carry 
them over. No sooner were they on the farther side, than he 
demanded of them money for their voyage. 

" Good master," said Eustace, " I am poor and destitute, 
and have no money." 

"Very well," replied the captain; "thy wife will do as 
well ; I take her as my slave, she will sell for the passage- 
money." 

" With my life only will I part with her," exclaimed the 
knight, as his wife clung to him in her distress. 

" As you please, master ; ho, men ! seize the woman, and 
take her to my cabin ; as for the man and his brats, heave 
them overboard." 

"Leave me, leave me, Eustace," murmured Theosbyta; 
" save thyself and our children ; I can but die once." 

With many a hard struggle, Eustace consented ; he clasped 
his two boys by their hands, and led them from the ship. 

" Ah, my poor children !" he cried, " your poor mother is 
lost ; in a strange land and in the power of a strange lord, 
must she lament her fate." 

A few hours' travelling brought Eustace and his children 
to the bank of a broad and rapid river, the water of which ran 
so deep that he feared to cross its stream with both his boys 
at one time ; placing one therefore on the bank, under the 
shade of a bush, he clasped the eldest in his arms, and plunged 
into the river. The stream ran swiftly, and the bottom was 
treacherous ; but at length he reached the farther side, and 
placed Theosbytus on the bank. Again he plunged into the 
river. The middle of the stream was but fairly gained, when 
he saw a wolf creep from the wood close to which his younger 
son was placed, and approach the child. It was all in vain that 
he shouted, and strove to reach the shore ; the wolf seized the 



CH. X.] THE TRIALS OF EUSTACE. 129 

child, and bore it off before its father's eyes. At that moment 
a loud roar from the other bank startled the bereaved father ; 
he turned, and saw a lion carrying away his eldest son. 

" Alas, alas V exclaimed Eustace, as soon as he had reached 
the farther bank of the river. " Once was I flourishing like 
a luxuriant tree, but now I am altogether blighted. Military 
ensigns were around me, and bands of armed men. Now I 
am alone in the world. My wife, my children are taken from 
me ; the one to slavery, the others to death. O Lord, Thou 
didst warn me that I must endure the perils of Job ; are not 
these worse than that holy man's ? In his greatest misery he 
had a couch whereon to rest his wearied limbs, and friends 
to compassionate him in his misfortunes. His wife, too, re- 
mained to him — mine is gone from me. Place a bridle on 
my lips, lest I utter foolishness, and stand up against Thee, 
O my God." 

His heart relieved by these passionate expressions, the 
knight continued his travel : after many days of want and fa- 
tigue, he reached a far-off village, where he abode with one of 
the villagers as his hired servant. For fifteen years he served 
his master faithfully, and at his death he succeeded to his cot- 
tage and his land. 

Trajan still lived, but his fortunes did not prosper : his ene- 
mies became daily stronger and stronger, for Placidus no longer 
directed the movements of the imperial army, or urged on the 
soldiers, by his example, to deeds of valour against the enemy. 
Often and often did the emperor think of his lost commander, 
and ceaseless were his endeavours to discover the place of his 
concealment. 

Eustace was sitting at his cottage-door about this time, 
little thinking of Trajan or of Rome, when two men drew near, 
and after observing him for some time, and communing with 
each other, accosted the knight. 

" Friend," said one of the men, " dost know in these parts 
a knight named Placidus and his two sons ?" 

The heart of Eustace was sore tried, when he saw the 
emissaries of Trajan. The sight of them recalled his previous 



130 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

honours in the "world, and he still felt a lingering wish to re- 
trace his steps. " Nay," he thought, " were I not alone, it 
were well to return ; but for a solitary this place is best." 
Then said he to the two men, 

" There is no one about here, good sirs, of the name you 
ask after.' - ' 

" It is but a fool's errand we are on, master, I fear," said 
the man ; " we have travelled far and near after our old 
general, but no one knows aught of him." 

" It is years since he left Rome, friends, is it not ?" rejoined 
Eustace. 

" Fifteen years and more. But come, comrade, we must 
go onwards." 

" Nay, sirs, enter my poor abode ; what I have is at your 
service." 

The emissaries of Trajan gladly acceded to Eustace's re- 
quest. The homely repast was soon placed on the board, and 
the men sat down to refresh themselves, whilst Eustace waited 
on them. Again, the thoughts of his old home came thickly 
upon him, and he could not restrain his tears. He left the 
room where his guests were, bathed his face with water, and 
returned to wait on the two men. 

" I have a strange presentiment," remarked one of the men 
during Eustace's absence, " that our good host is even he whom 
we search after. Marked you not how he hesitated when we 
first addressed him ?" 

"Ay, and even now he has left us with his eyes red with 
suppressed tears." 

" Let us try the last test, the sabre-mark on his head which 
he received in the passage of the Danube, when he struck 
down the northern champion." 

As soon as Eustace returned, the soldiers examined his 
head, and finding the wishcd-for mark, embraced their old 
general ; the neighbours, too, came in, and the exploits of 
Eustace were soon in the mouths of the villagers. 

For fifteen days they journeyed towards Rome, Eustace 
and his two guides ; as they neared the imperial capital, the 



CH. X.] THE TRIALS OF EUSTACE. 131 

emperor came out to meet his old commander. Eustace would 
have fallen at his master's feet, but Trajan forbade him ; and 
side by side, amid the congratulations and applauses of the 
people, the emperor and his long-lost servant entered Rome. 

The return of Eustace inspired the people with confidence ; 
thousands hurried from every village to volunteer as soldiers ; 
and his only difficulty was, to select who should be rejected. 
One contingent from a far-off village arrested his attention ; it 
was headed by two youths of wonderful likeness the one to the 
other, and apparently within a year of the same age. They 
were tall in stature, of commanding features ; and their selec- 
tion as leaders by their comrades did justice to their attain- 
ments and the superiority of their manners. Pleased with 
the youths, Eustace placed them in the van of his army, and 
began his march against the invaders, who had reached within 
a few miles of the coast whereon he had disembarked from the 
ship of the barbarous captain. 

Pitching his camp within sight of that of the enemy, the 
commander billeted the best of his troops in a small village 
that formed the rear of his position. A widow lady, of but 
few years, but sorely worn with grief, received the two }rouths 
into her house. About the mid-day meal, the youths con- 
versed the one with the'other of their early life. 

" Of what I was when a child," said the elder, " I know 
only this : that my father carried me over a broad river, and 
laid me under a bush, whilst he returned to fetch my brother ; 
but whilst he was gone, a lion came, seized me by the clothes, 
and bore me into a wood hard by. My mother we lost on 
our journey nigh to a great sea, where she remained with a 
cruel captain who had seized her for his slave. As I was car- 
ried away by the lion, methought a wolf seized on my brother, 
whom my father had left on the other bank. The lion soon 
dropped me ; for men with loud cries and stones pursued him 
and drove him from me. Then did they take me to the village 
where we have lived together so long." 

" My brother, O my brother !" exclaimed the other youth, 
hardly able to restrain his emotions during the recital, " I am 



132 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

he whom the wolf carried off, saved from his jaws by the 
shepherds, as thou wast from the jaws of the lion." 

The widow had listened to the wonderful story of the two 
young men. Much she marvelled at their preservation. On 
the morrow she sought the commander of the imperial forces ; 
she found him in his tent, his officers were around him, and the 
two young men stood within the circle. The widow craved 
permission to return to her own country. 

" Sir," she said, " I am a stranger in these parts : fifteen 
years have past since I left Rome with my husband, once high 
in power, and rich, but then poor and in misery : we reached 
yonder sea, our two sons were with us ; we crossed in a ship- 
man's boat, but when we arrived on this side, he demanded 
money of my husband, and when he had it not to give him, he 
seized on me and carried me into slavery. Years lived I be- 
neath his roof in sorrow and in pain ; but it was in vain that he 
sought to do me evil, for God preserved me from his devices. 
At length my master died, and I became free ; since then I 
have laboured honestly; and would now return to Rome, if 
perchance 1 may find my husband and my children." 

"Theosbyta!" said the general in a low voice, raising his 
helmet as he spoke. 

" Eustace, my husband !" 

The general raised his fainting wife, and kissed her gently 
on her forehead. " Our sons, Theosbyta, we shall see no more ; 
a lion and a wolf carried them off before my eyes, as we 
crossed the river not man}? - leagues from hence." 

" Father ! our father !" said the two youths, as they knelt 
before the general. 

" Nay, doubt not, Eustace," said his wife ; " last night I 
overheard the tale of their adventures : this is he whom the 
lion took ; this one did the shepherds rescue from the jaws of 
the wolf." 

The tale was soon retold, and Eustace convinced that he 
had recovered in one day his wife and his sons. Then loud 
b] e\v the trumpets through the camp, and cheer upon cheer 
■ v from the good soldiers, when their general came from 



CH. X.] THE TRIALS OF EUSTACE. 133 

his tent, leading bis long-lost wife, and supported on either 
side by his sons. The enthusiasm aided them in obtaining the 
victory over the enemy. Every one loved their general, and 
rejoiced in his joy ; and that day they fought for their home, 
their emperor, and their commander. 

Trajan lived not to welcome home his honoured general ; 
his successor, however, spared not to receive Eustace with 
the honours his achievements deserved. The banquet-hall 
was gorgeous with ornaments ; and the banquet replete with 
delicacies and curiosities. On the emperor's right hand sat 
Eustace, and his sons occupied no mean place in the banquet- 
hall. 

" To-morrow," said the emperor, " we will sacrifice to 
the great gods of war, and offer our thanks for this thy vic- 
tory." 

" As my lord pleases," said Eustace ; " one thing I pray, 
that my lord will not regard my absence from the temple as an 
intentional slight on his royal person." 

" Absence, sir !" exclaimed the emperor ; " I command your 
attendance ; see that you and yours are before the altar of 
Mars, at noon, to-morrow ; thou shalt offer there with thine 
own hands." 

" I will cut off the hand that so offends," replied Eustace. 
" Ah ! a Christian — be it so — sacrifice or die !" 
'•' Death, then, my lord ; I worship Christ, not idols." 
" Let him save thee from the lions' mouths," exclaimed the 
impious emperor. " Ho, guards ! this Christian and his sons to 
the beasts' den ; come, my guests, to the arena." 

" And me to my lord," said Theosbyta, advancing from 
the lower part of the hall. 

" As thou wilt : come, sirs ; our lions will be well fed." 
The party reached the amphitheatre ; it was crowded with 
spectators. Rumour had soon carried abroad the tidings that 
the triumphant general was to die by the lion's mouth for his 
Christianity. Some pitied him for what they called his folly : 
" What, die for a little incense thrown on the fire !" Others 
gloried in his expected death, for they hated the new faith. A 



134 ANCIENT MOltAL TALES. 

few in secret prayed to God to give their brother strength to 
undergo his fearful martyrdom, for they were Christians. 

Eustace stood in the arena ; his wife knelt by his side ; 
his sons stood before him to meet the lion's first bound. The 
crowd grew impatient — a sudden silence — a sound as of revolv- 
ing hinges, and then a sullen roar, as with a bound the lion 
sprang into the centre of the amphitheatre. One look he cast 
on the youths ; and then he bowed his head, crept to their feet 
and licked them ; another, and another, was let loose ; but the 
old lion kept guard over the family, and fought with the other 
lions, and drove them back to their dens. 

" It is enough," said the emperor, " he has a charm against 
the teeth of beasts ; we will test his powers against the heat of 
fire : prepare the brazen ox." 

A fire was lighted beneath the animal, a vast hollow frame, 
that represented an ox, and into the belly of which the victims 
were introduced through a door in the right side. As soon as 
it was heated to its utmost heat, the executioners hastened to 
throw their victims in. Eustace forbade them, and then clasp- 
ing his wife in his arms, and followed by his sons, he moved 
slowly up the ladder that led to the horrid cell, and entered the 
belly of the brazen ox calmly and without fear. 

For three days the fire was kept burning beneath the crea- 
ture. On the third evening the beast was opened ; within, lay 
Eustace, his wife, and his sons, as it were in a deep and placid 
sleep. Not a hair of their heads was burnt, nor was the smell 
of fire upon their persons. 

So died they all: the father, the wife, and the children. 
The people buried them with honour, and remembered with 
sorrow the martyrdom of the Christian general. 



" The scene of the conversion," said Thompson, " recalls to 
my mind Doddridge's account of Col. Gardiner, converted from his 
licentious life by an almost similar vision of our Saviour on the 
cross, and by an address not less effective than the words heard 
by the Eustace of your tale." 



CH. X.] ROMANCE OF SIR ISUMBRAS. 135 

" Few of my old monk's tales are more true, in their leading 
features," said Herbert, " than this of the trials of Eustace and his 
family. It has been told more than once as an authentic history, 
and you will find it alluded to in Butler's ' Lives of the Saints,' 
where it is stated, that a church at Rome was dedicated to the 
memory of St. Eustachius." 

" Surely the incident of the stag and the cross is very similar to 
that in the legend of St. Hubert." 

" Almost identical, Thompson," rejoined Herbert ; " in the 
old pictures, the two incidents are generally depicted in nearly the 
same manner." 

" Another curious similarity occurs in the early English ro- 
mance of Sir Isumbras," said Lathom. " That knight's misfor- 
tunes came upon him in a very similar manner to poor Eustace's : the 
knight, his wife, and his three children wander on their pilgrimage 
to the Holy Land ; she wrapped in his surcoat, his scarlet mantle 
being divided among his three children. They so reach a river, and 
two of their children are carried off by a lion and leopard ; one 
child, however, and the mother, are left : then sings the old poet : 

' Through the forest they went days three, 
Till they came to the Greekish sea ; 

They grieved, and were full wo I 
As they stood upon the land 
They saw a fleet come sailand (sailing), 

Three hundred ships and mo (more). 
With top castles set on loft, 
Richly then were they wrought, 

With joy and mickle pride : 
A heathen king was therein, 
That Christendom came to win, 

His power was full wide.' " 

"The king, of course, plays the part of the cruel ship captain," 
said Herbert. 

" Yes. Seven days' hunger drives the knight and his lady to 
the sultan's galley to ask for bread : taken for spies, they are at 
first driven off, until the noble stature of the knight, and the fair 
complexion of the wife, 'bright as a blossom on a tree,' convinces 
the Saracens that their piteous tale is true. To the knight the 



13 6 AXCIENT MORAL TALES. 

sultan offers rank, honour, and wealth, if he will renounce Christi- 
anity and fight under the Moslem banners. Sir Isumbras refuses, 
and renews his petition for bread. Then, continues the poet, 

• The sultan beheld that lady there, 
Him thought an angel that she were, 

Comen a-down from heaven : 
Man — I will give thee gold and fee, 
An thou that woman will sellen me, 

More than thou can neven (name). 
I will give thee a hundred pound 
Of pennies that be whole and round, 

And rich robes seven. 
She shall be queen of my land ; 
And all men bow unto her hand ; 

And none withstand her steven (voice). 
Sir Isumbras said — Nay ; 
My wife I will not sell away, 

Though ye me for her sloo (slew). 
I wedded her in goddis lay 
To hold her to my ending day, 

Both for weal and woe.' " 

"A decided refusal to complete the bargain," said Thompson. 

" Yet not so taken by the sultan ; the money is counted into the 
knight's cloak, the lady taken forcible possession of, and Sir Isum- 
bras and his child carried on shore, and beat until hardly able to 
move. But here we must stop with the early English romance, 
having already gone beyond its similarity to the old monk's story. 
—And now I must break off for to-night; I know it is but a short 
allowance, and shall be compensated for when we next meet. 




CHAPTER XL 

ANOTHER CHAT ABOUT WITCHES AND WITCHCRAFT — -LATE PERIOD OF 

THE EXISTENCE OF BELIEF IN WITCHES WITCHCRAFT OF LOVE 

TALE OF THE QUEEN SEMIRAMIS ELFIN ARMOURERS THE SWORD 

OF THE SCANDINAVIAN KING MYSTICAL MEANING OF TALES OF 

MAGIC ANGLO-SAXON ENIG AS CELESTINUS AND THE MILLER^ 

HORSE THE EMFEROR CONRAD AND THE COUNT'S SON. 

^HOSE stories about sorcerers and sorcery, Lathom," 
said Herbert, " have made me consider a little as to 
the amount of truth on which such fictions may have 
been founded." 

" Perhaps you believe in witches, magicians, and 
all that tribe that gather deadly herbs by moonlight and ride 
through the air on broomsticks," said Thompson, with a smile. 

■' May not Herbert fairly ask you," said Lathom, " whether 
there is any antecedent improbability in mortal beings obtaining, 
from the spirit of evil, a temporary superhuman power ; or in the 
idea of Satan awarding the riches and honours of this world to 
those who will fall down and worship him?" 

" Selden's apology for the law against witches in his time shews 
a lurking belief," remarked Herbert. " ' If,' says that sour old 
lawyer, ' one man believes that by turning his hat thrice and cry- 
ing buz, he could take away a fellow-creature's life, this were a just 
law made by the state, that whosoever should do so should forfeit 
his life.' " 

" He must have believed, or his logical mind would have seen, 
that a law waging war with intentions, which are incapable of ful- 
filment, is both wrong and mischievous." 

" Well," said Herbert, " as good a lawyer as Selden, and a 

better man, did not fear to profess his belief in witchcraft, and 

to give his judicial countenance to trials for sorcery : Sir Matthew 

Hale was ever ready to admit his belief in witches and witchcraft." 

n 2 



138 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" To the lawyers you may add the learned antiquary and physi- 
cian, Sir Thomas Browne, the author of the Religio Medici." 

" But surely, Lathom, all this belief, as well as the practice of 
witch-tormenting, ceased about 1682," said Thompson. 

" The belief in witchcraft has never yet been extinct, and the 
practice of witch-burning lasted forty years after that, at least, in 
Scotland. The act of James, so minutely describing witches and 
their acts, and so strenuously inciting the people to burn them, 
remained on the statute-book until the ninth year of George the 
Second; and as late as 1722, the hereditary sheriff of Sutherland- 
shire condemned a poor woman to death as a witch." 

" I think I can carry down the belief at least a few years later 
than the date even of the last witch-execution," remarked Herbert. 

" Among the poor and uneducated, undoubtedly?" 

" Nay, Thompson, with them it remains even now ; I speak 
not only of the educated, but of that class of men which is most 
conversant with evidence, and most addicted to discredit fictitious 
stories." 

" What, the lawyers ?" 

" Even so," replied Lathom ; " in 1730, William Forbes, in his 
Institutes of the Law of Scotland, published in that year, makes 
this remark : ' Nothing seems plainer to me than that there have 
been witches, and that, perhaps, such are now actually existing; 
which I intend, God willing, to clear in a larger work concerning 
the criminal law.' " 

" Did this large work appear?" said Thompson. 

** I should think not ; at least it is not known. " 

" The old Jesuit, from whom you got your version of the Un- 
grateful Man, has a story illustrative of a kind of witchcraft that all 
will admit to have been prevalent in every age," said Thompson. 

" What, will you believe in witchcraft in any form ?" 

" At all events in one form — the witchcraft of love ; my in- 
stance is the story of Semiramis and Ninus. I will read it you 
from the same version that Lathom used for his tale of Vitalis and 
Massaccio." 

€i)e (Queen Aemiramfe. 

" Cf all my wives," said King Ninus to Semiramis, " it is 



CH. XI.] THE QUEEN SEMIRAMIS. 139 

you I love the best. None have charms and graces like you, 
and for you I would willingly resign them all." 

" Let the king consider well what he says," replied Semi- 
ramis. " What if I were to take him at his word !" 

" Do so," returned the monarch; "whilst beloved by you 
I am indifferent to all others." 

" So, then, if I asked it," said Semiramis, " you would 
banish all your other wives, and love me alone ? I should be 
alone your consort, the partaker of your power, and queen 
of Assyria ?" 

" Queen of Assyria ! Are you not so already," said Ninus, 
" since you reign by your beauty over its king 1" 

" No, no," answered his lovely mistress ; " I am at pre- 
sent only a slave whom you love. I reign not ; I merely 
charm. When I give an order, you are consulted before I am 
obeyed." 

" And to reign, then, you think so great a pleasure?" 

" Yes, to one who has never experienced it." 

" And do you wish, then, to experience it ? Would you 
like to reign a few days in my place ?" 

" Take care, O king ! do not offer too much." 

" No, I repeat it," said the captivated monarch. "Would 
you like, for one whole day, to be sovereign mistress of As- 
syria ? If you would, I consent to it." 

" And all which I command then shall be executed ?" 

" Yes, I will resign to you, for one entire day, my power 
and my golden sceptre." 

" And when shall this be?" 

" To-morrow, if you like." 

" I do," said Semiramis; and let her head fall upon the 
shoulder of the king, like a beautiful woman asking pardon for 
some caprice which has been yielded to. 

The next morning, Semiramis called her women, and com- 
manded them to dress her magnificently. On her head she 
wore a crown of precious stones, and appeared thus before 
Ninus. Ninus, enchanted with her beauty, ordered all the 
officers of the palace to assemble in the state- chamber, and 



140 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

his golden sceptre to be brought from the treasury. He then 
entered the chamber, leading Semiramis by the hand. All 
prostrated themselves before the aspect of the king, who 
conducted Semiramis to the throne, and seated her upon it. 
Then, ordering the whole assembly to rise, he announced to 
the court that they were to obey, during the whole day, Semi- 
ramis as himself. So saying, he took up the golden sceptre ; 
and, placing it in the hands of Semiramis, " Queen," said he, 
" I commit to you the emblem of sovereign power; take it, 
and command with sovereign authority. All here are your 
slaves ; and I myself am nothing more than your servant for 
the whole of this day. Whoever shall be remiss in executing 
your orders, let him be punished as if he had disobeyed the 
commands of the king." 

Having thus spoken, the king knelt down before Semi- 
ramis, who gave him with a smile her hand to kiss. The 
courtiers then passed in succession, each making oath to exe- 
cute blindly the orders of Semiramis. When the ceremony 
was finished, the king made her his compliments, and asked 
her how she had managed to go through it with so grave and 
majestical an air. 

" Whilst they were promising to obey me," said Semi- 
ramis, " I was thinking what I should command each of them 
to do. I have but one day of power, and I will employ it 
well." 

The king laughed at this reply. Semiramis appeared 
more piqnante and amiable than ever. " Let us see," said he, 
" how you will continue your part. By what orders will you 
begin ?" 

" Let the secretary of the king approach my throne !" said 
Semiramis, with a loud voice. 

The secretary approached ; two slaves placed a little table 
before him. 

" Write," said Semiramis : " ' Under penalty of death, the 
governor of the citadel of Babylon is ordered to yield up the 
command of the citadel to him who shall bear to him this 
order.' Fold this order, seal it with the king's seal, and give 



CH. XI.] THE QUEEN SEMIRAMIS. 141 

it to me. Write now: 'Under penalty of death, the governor 
of the slaves of the palace is ordered to resign the command 
of the slaves into the hands of the person who shall present 
to him this order.' Fold, seal it with the king's seal, and 
deliver to me this decree. Write again : ' Under penalty of 
death, the general of the army encamped under the walls of 
Bahylon is ordered to resign the command of the army to 
him who shall be the bearer of this order.' Fold, seal, and 
deliver to me this decree." 

She took the three orders, thus dictated, and put them in 
her bosom. The whole court was struck with consternation ; 
the king himself was surprised. 

" Listen," said Semiramis. " In two hours hence let all 
the officers of the state come and offer me presents, as is the 
custom on the accession of new princes ; and let a festival 
be prepared for this evening. Now let all depart. Let my 
faithful servant Ninus alone remain. I have to consult him 
upon affairs of state." 

When all the rest had gone out, "You see," said Semi- 
ramis, " that I know how to play the queen." 

Ninus laughed. 

" My beautiful queen," said he, " you play your part to 
astonishment. But if your servant may dare to question 
you, what use would you make of the orders you have dic- 
tated ?" 

" I should be no longer queen, were I obliged to give 
account of my actions. Nevertheless, this was my motive. 
I have a vengeance to execute against the three officers whom 
these orders menace." 

" Vengeance ! and wherefore ?" 

" The first, the governor of the citadel is one-eyed, and 
frightens me every time I meet him ; the second, the chief of 
the slaves, I hate, because he threatens me with rivals ; the 
third, the general of the army, deprives me too often of your 
company, — you are constantly in the camp." 

This reply, in which caprice and flattery were mingled, 
enchanted Ninus. " Good," said he, laughing. " Here are 



142 ANCIENT MOKAL TALES. 

the three first officers of the empire dismissed for very suffi- 
cient reasons." 

The gentlemen of the court now came to present their gifts 
to the queen. Some gave precious stones ; others, of a lower 
rank, flowers and fruits ; and the slaves, having nothing to 
give, gave nothing but homage. Among these last were three 
young brothers, who had come from the Caucasus with Semi- 
ramis, and had rescued the caravan, in which the women 
were, from an enormous tiger. When they passed before the 
throne : 

" And you," said she to the three brothers, " have you no 
present to make to your queen?" 

" No other," replied the first, Zopire, " than my life to 
defend her." 

" None other," replied the second, Artaban, " than my sabre 
against her enemies." 

" None other," replied the third, Assar, " than the respect 
and admiration which her presence inspires." 

''Slaves," said Semiramis, "it is you who have made me 
the most valuable present of the whole court, and I will not 
be ungrateful. You who have offered me your sword against 
my enemies, take this order, carry it to the general of the 
army encamped under the walls of Babylon, give it to him, 
and see what he will do for you. You who have offered me 
your life for my defence, take this order to the governor of 
the citadel, and see what he will do for you ; and you who 
offer me the respect and admiration which my presence in- 
spires, take this order, give it to the commandant of the slaves 
of the palace, and see what will be the result." 

Never had Semiramis displayed so much gaiety, so much 
folly, and so much grace ; and never was Ninus so captivated. 
Nor were her charms lessened in his eyes, when a slave, not 
having executed promptly an insignificant order, she com- 
manded his head to be struck off, which was immediately 
done. 

Without bestowing a thought on this trivial matter, Ninus 
continued to converse with Semiramis till the evening and 



CH. XI.] THE QUEEN SEMIHAMIS. 143 

the fe*te arrived. When she entered the saloon which had 
been prepared for the occasion, a slave brought her a plate, in 
which was the head of the decapitated eunuch. " Tis well !" 
said she, after having examined it. " Place it on a stake in 
the court of the palace, that all may see it ; and be you there 
on the spot to proclaim to every one, that the man to whom 
this head belonged lived three hours ago, but that having dis- 
obeyed my will, his head was separated from his body." 

The fete was magnificent; a sumptuous banquet was pre- 
pared in the gardens, and Semiramis received the homage of 
all with a grace and majesty perfectly regal ; she continually 
turned to and conversed with Ninus, rendering him the most 
distinguished honour. " You are," said she, " a foreign king, 
come to visit me in my palace. I must make your visit agree- 
able to you." 

Shortly after the banquet was served, Semiramis con- 
founded and reversed all ranks. Ninus was placed at the bot- 
tom of the table. He was the first to laugh at this caprice; 
and the court, following his example, allowed themselves to 
be placed, without murmuring, according to the will of the 
queen. She seated near herself the three brothers from the 
Caucasus. 

" Are my orders executed?" she demanded of them. 

" Yes," replied they. 

The fete was very gay. A slave having, by the force of 
habit, served the king first, Semiramis had him beaten with 
rods. His cries mingled with the laughter of the guests. 
Every one was inclined to merriment. It was a comedy, in 
which each played his part. Towards the end of the repast, 
when wine had added to the general gaiety, Semiramis rose 
from her elevated seat, and said, " My lords, the treasurer of 
the empire has read me a list of those who this morning have 
brought me their gifts of congratulation on my joyful acces- 
sion to the throne. One grandee alone of the court has failed 
to bring his gift." 

" Who is it ?" cried Ninus. " He must be punished 
severely." 



1-14 ANCIENT-' MORAL TALES. 

" It is you yourself, my lord, — you who speak ; what have 
you given to the queen this morning ?" 

Ninus rose, and came with a smiling countenance to 
whisper something into the ear of the queen. " The. queen 
is insulted by her servant,'' exclaimed Semiramis. 

" I embrace your knees to obtain my pardon, beautiful 
queen," said he; " pardon me, pardon me;" and he added in 
a lower tone, " I wish this fete were finished." 

" You wish, then, that I should abdicate ?"' said Semiramis. 
" But no, I have still two hours to reign ;" and at the same 
time she withdrew her hand, which the king was covering 
with kisses. " I pardon not," said she, with a loud voice, 
" such an insult on the part of a slave. Slave, prepare thy- 
self to die." 

" Silly child that thou art!" said Ninus, still on his knees ; 
" yet will I give way to thy folly; but patience, thy reign will 
soon be over." 

" You will not, then, be angry," said she in a whisper, 
'■ at something I am going to order at this moment ?* 

" No," said he. 

" Slaves," said she aloud, " seize this man — seize this 
Ninus !" 

Ninus, smiling, put himself into the hands of the slaves. 

" Take him out of the saloon, lead him into the court of 
the seraglio, prepare every thing for his death, and wait my 
orders." 

The slaves obeyed, and Ninus followed them, laughing, 
into the court of the seraglio. They passed by the head of 
the disobeying eunuch. Then Semiramis placed herself on a 
balcony. Ninus had suffered his hands to be tied. 

" Hasten," said the queen, " hasten, Zopire, to the fortress; 
— you to the camp, Artaban ; — Assar, do you secure all the 
gates of the palace." 

The orders were given in a whisper, and executed im- 
mediately. 

" Beautiful queen," said Ninus, laughing, " this comedy 
wants but its conclusion ; pray, let it be a prompt one." 



THE QUEEN SEMIRAMIS. 145 

" I will," said Semiramis. " Slaves, recollect the eunuch. 
Strike !" 

They struck ; Ninus had hardly time to utter a cry : when 
his head fell upon the pavement, the smile was still upon his 
lips. 

" Now I am queen of Ass3 7 ria," exclaimed Semiramis, "and 
perish every one, like the eunuch and Ninus, who dare disobey 
my orders." 



" The discovery of the sword by Sir Guido, in your tale of the 
Crusader," said Herbert, "reminds me of the elfin swords so com- 
mon among the Scandinavian heroes/' 

" Such as the enchanted sword taken by a pirate from the tomb 
of a Norwegian monarch," suggested Lathom. 

'* Rather, perhaps, of those manufactured by the elves under 
compulsion, or from gratitude to some earthly warrior ; the famous 
sword Tyrfiny, the weapon of the Scandinavian monarch Suafurlain, 
was one of these. This is the story as given by Scott, in the second 
volume of his Scottish Minstrelsy : ' The Scandinavian king, re- 
turning from hunting, bewildered himself among the mountains ; 
about sunset he beheld a large rock, and two dwarfs sitting before 
the mouth of a cavern. The king drew his sword, and intercepted 
their retreat by springing between them and their recess, and im- 
posed upon them the following condition of safety: — That they 
should make for him a falchion, with a baldric and scabbard of pure 
gold, and a blade which would divide stones and iron as a garment, 
and which would render the wielder of it ever victorious in battle. 
The elves complied with his demand, and Suafurlain pursued his 
way home. Returning at the time appointed, the dwarfs delivered 
to him the famous sword Tyrfiny ; then standing in the entrance of 
the cavern, spoke thus : 'This sword, O king, shall destroy a man 
every time it is brandished, but it shall perform three atrocious 
deeds, and shall be thy bane.' The king rushed forward with the 
charmed sword, and buried both its edges in the rock, but the 
dwarfs escaped into their recesses. This enchanted sword emitted 
rays like the sun, dazzling all against whom it was brandished ; it 
divided steel like water, and was never unsheathed without slaying a 
man.' " 



146 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" The supernatural skill in the fabrication of arras attributed to 
the northern elves," remarked Lathom, "seems to indicate some 
traces of historical truth. The Fins, who inhabited Scandinavia 
when Odin and his Asiatics invaded the country, retired to the moun- 
tains to avoid the tyranny of the new people. Far better acquainted 
than the invaders could have been with the mines of their country, 
a superior knowledge in the manufacture of arms may be fairly 
awarded to them. And thus, in time, the oppressed Fins would 
come to be the dwarfish armourers of Scandinavian mythology." 

" As theory is the fashion," said Thompson, " what say you to 
a geological foundation to many of your mythological wonders? 
Were not the great dragons of stone suddenly released from their 
rocky beds — the long serpents guarding treasure in deep pits — the 
closely-coiled snake of the cavern — were not many of these the 
gigantic antediluvian relics of our caves ? Has not many an ichthy- 
osaurus, in his earthy bed, been transformed into a deputy fiend, or 
even into the father of evil himself, keeping watch over some hoard 
of ill-gotten wealth ; whilst the strange form of the huge pterodac- 
tyle, with its wings and claws, has been metamorphosed into the 
dragon of Wantley and his compeers?" 

"Your theory, Thompson," rejoined Herbert, " may not be so 
baseless as you regard it. The entire series of the heathen mytho- 
logy has been of old, and still is, in Germany, regarded as a mere 
mystical delineation of the phenomena of nature. The elements are 
said to have suggested the nature of the gods and their origin ; the 
specific phenomena of nature may have suggested the various forms 
under which the divine race appears and acts. It was a very com- 
mon practice among the astronomers of the days of Galileo, and 
even to a later period, to conceal their discoveries in enigmas. May 
we not, with some little appearance of reason, regard the fables of 
our ancestors, the knights, the dragons, the giants, the magicians 
and their followers, as in some respect an esoteric teaching of the 
philosophy of physics, a mystical setting forth of natural pheno- 
mena?" 

"The love of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors for philosophical enig- 
mas, as they may be called, was undoubtedly very great," rejoined 
Lathom ; " I remember one given by Mr. Wright, in his introduc- 
tion to Anglo-Saxon literature. It was in these words : 



ANGLO-SAXON ENIGMAS. 147 

4 I saw tread over the turf 
Ten in all, 
Six brothers 
And their sisters with them, 
They had a living soul : 
They hanged their skins, 
Openly and manifestly, 
On the wall of the hall : 
To any one of them all 
It was none the worse, 
Nor his side the sorer : 
Although they should thus, 

Bereaved of covering, 
And awakened by the might 
Of the guardian of the skies, 
Bite, with their mouths, 

The rough leaves ; 
Clothing is renewed 
To those, who, before coming forth, 

Left their ornaments, 

Lying in their track, 
To depart over the earth.' " 

" I shall not attempt to guess such an enigma," said Thompson. 

"Its solution is the butterfly; the various transformations through 
which it passes from the grub until it rises with its beautiful wings, 
are intended to be described. But come, as we are on enigmas, 
what say you to this : ' We are a family of seventeen, all sisters ; 
six others claim to belong to our race, but we account them illegiti- 
mate. We are born of iron, or of the feather that bears the bird 
heavenwards ; by iron we die. Our fathers were three brothers, our 
mother's nature is uncertain. We teach him who desires to learn, 
and quickly and silently give words to him who requires them of 
us.' " 

" I see the solution," said Herbert, " but yet cannot work it out; 
it is, doubtless, the alphabet, in that day confined to seventeen true 
and six false letters ; what puzzles me is the iron, and the natures 
of the mother and the father." 

"The iron," said Lathom, "is the stile used in writing; the 
sharp point for marking, and the broad end to rub out with : the 
uncertainty of the mother's race arises from the pen being either of 



148 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

reed or quill, or even of iron ; the three brothers are the thumb and 
two fingers employed in writing." 

" The uncertain mother' is peculiarly applicable to these times," 
said Thompson, with a smile, " when you may vary your pen from 
goose to swan, and from swan to crow ; or choose between steel- 
pens of every size and shape, and delicate nibs of gold tipped with 
rubies." 

" Come, we must leave our theories and enigmas, and return to 
our old story-tellers," said Herbert. "What tale is in preparation 
for us?" 

"A little more demonology, as we have it in the story of 

Cclcsttnus; anfc tfjc JHtlUr's 5?ors'c. 

Alexander had an only son, named Celestinus, who was very- 
dear to him : desirous of having him well instructed, he sent 
for a certain sage, and proffered his son to him for a pupil, 
promising a bountiful remuneration for his labour. The sage 
agreed, and took the boy home with him. Celestinus was a 
diligent scholar, and made great and satisfactory progress under 
the tuition of the philosopher. 

One day, as the tutor and the pupil were walking together 
through a meadow, their attention was directed to a horse 
grievously afflicted with the mange ; he lay on the ground in 
the middle of the field, and on either side of him two sheep 
were feeding, tied together by a rope which chanced to hang 
over the horse's back ; irritated by the rubbing of the cord, the 
poor horse rose, and naturally drew with him the two sheep. 
The weight of the sheep made the rope press more and more 
upon his poor back, and galled him dreadfully. Unable to 
endure the pain, the horse ran towards his master's home ; 
the faster he ran, the more the sheep knocked against his 
flanks, and by their weight ground the cord into the sores on 
his back ; with every struggle of the horse and his living 
burdens, the cord sank deeper into the wound. 

On went the horse, maddened with pain ; at last he reached 
the hut of his master, the miller, and dashed in with his bur- 
dens through the open door. No one was within, but a lire of 



CELESTINUS AND THE MILLERS HORSE. 149 

logs burned brightly on the hearth : plunging and striking 
with his hoofs, the horse scattered the burning logs about the 
house ; the flames caught the building, and soon surrounded 
the poor animal. Unable to move from terror at the flames, 
there died the poor horse and the unlucky sheep, amid the 
ruins of the miller's hut. 

"My son," said the tutor, when from afar he saw the end 
of the accident, "you have seen the beginning, the middle, 
and the end of this incident ; when you return to your 
study, make me some verses upon it, and shew me where- 
fore the house was burned. If you fail, beware of the punish- 
ment." 

It was all in vain that Celestinus tried to coin a verse or 
two on such a curious subject. He felt more than usually 
unpoetical ; and as for assigning a cause for the fire, he so 
puzzled himself with his own arguments, as at last to begin to 
doubt whether there was any cause at all. At length he left 
his room, and tried what a walk would do towards making 
him able to poetise. 

" My son," said a venerable-looking man that met him on 
his solitary ramble, " what makes you so sorrowful ?" 

" Pray do not trouble yourself," replied the youth ; " it is 
quite useless to tell you of my trouble : you cannot help me." 
" Nay, but my son — how can we decide until we hear the 
cause ?" 

"Well, then, good father, I have got to make some verses 
on a mangy horse and two sheep, and I do not know how." 

" And to decide wherefore the hut, the horse, and the sheep 
were burnt." 

" Why, father, how know you that ?" exclaimed Celes- 
tinus. 

" Though human to look at, I am not of this world," 
replied the old man ; " come, make a contract with me ; hence- 
forth serve me, and care not for your master, and I will make 
you such a copy of verses as never were yet seen. Come, 
choose : you know the alternative — the philosopher flogs 
sharply." 

o 2 



150 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

Celestinus hesitated a long time, but at last, through fear, 
he agreed to the devil's proposal. 

"Now then, my son," said the devil, "write what I tell 
you ; are you ready to begin ? 

A mangy horse lay in a field, 

A sheep on either side ; 
Across his back the rope was hung, 

To which the sheep were tied. 

Teas' d by the rope, uprose the horse, 

With him the sheep up swung ; 
On either flank, thus weighted well, 

The rope his withers wrung. 

Clogg'd by his living load, he seeks 

Yon miller's hut to gain ; 
The rope wears deeper, and his pace 

Is quickened with the pain. 

He minds not bolts, nor bars, nor logs 

That on the hearthstone burn ; 
Nor fears, with ready, scattering hoof, 

The flaming pile to spurn. 

Wide flies the fire, above, around, 

The rafters catch the flame ; 
Poor Dobbin, and his fleecy load, 

Are roasted in the same. 

Had but that miller deigned at home 

His careful watch to keep, 
He had not burnt his house or horse, 

Nor roasted both his sheep." 

Delighted with the verses, Celestinus hastened to his master 
on his return home. The philosopher read them with asto- 
nishment. 

" Boy," said lie, " whence did you steal these verses?' 

" I did not steal them, sir." 

" Come, come, boy — they arc clearly not your own ; tell 
me who made them for you." 



CELESTINUS AND THE MILLERS HORSE. 151 

"I dare not, master," replied the boy. 

" Dare not ? why dare not ? Come, boy, tell me the truth, 
or abide a worse punishment than would have awaited you had 
you not brought me any verses." 

Terrified at his master's threats, Celestinus revealed his in- 
terview with the devil in a human form, and his contract of 
service with him. Deeply grieved at the occurrence, the pre- 
ceptor ceased not to talk with his pupil, until he had persuaded 
him, humbly and heartily, on his knees, to confess to God 
his grievous sin in his compact with the devil. His con- 
federacy with the evil one thus renounced, Celestinus became 
a good and holy man, and, after a well- spent life, resigned his 
soul to God. 



" Pray, Lathom, what moral did your old monk intend to draw 
from this diabolical poetry?" asked Thompson. 

" His application is very recondite ; the preceptor is a prelate of 
the Church ; the mangy horse, a sinner covered with sins ; the two 
sheep represent two preachers bound by the cord of charity ; the 
miller's house is the world, and the fire, detraction. I must admit 
that the application, in this case, is far less valuable or intelligible 
than the story itself." 

" In an old book of moral advice," said Herbert, " I found a de- 
scription of three madmen, that reminded me much of the five kinds 
described by St. Peter, as related by your old writer. The first 
carried a fagot of wood, and because it was already too heavy for 
him, he added more wood to it, in the hopes of thereby making it 
lighter." 

"And he," rejoined Lathom, "was a sinner, daily adding new 
sins to old, because unable to bear the weight of his original errors." 

" The very same. The second madman drew water from a deep 
well with a sieve ; his labour was incessant, and his progress just as 
slow. Can you explain the nature of his sin?" 

" 1 can read the explanation," rejoined Lathom, "for I have this 
moment found out the source of your extract in my old monk's 
book. This madman was the man who does good, but does it sin- 
fully, and therefore it is of no benefit. The third madman was far 
worse, he carried a beam in his chariot ; and wishing to enter his 



152 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

court-yard, and finding the gate so narrow that it would not admit 
the beam, he whipped his horse until it tumbled both itself and its 
master into a deep well. The beam was worldly vanities, with 
which their possessor sought to enter into heaven, but by which he 
was cast down into hell." 

"The belief in witchcraft," began Herbert, " is very well illus- 
trated by a late publication of the Camden Society of London." 

"Nay, nay, Reginald, no more of witches now," rejoined La- 
thom ; " the subject deserves far more time, attention, and illustra- 
tion than we can now afford it, and must be adjourned for the 
present. Let me conclude this evening with the tale of 

%\)t 3Empcrov Conrati antf tljc Count's J£mt. 

During the reign of the emperor Conrad, there lived a certain 
count of the name of Leopold, who had risen to high commands 
by his bravery and his knowledge. Every one regarded the 
count with favour, and loved him for his kindness to suitors, 
and his prowess against the enemies of the emperor. Conrad 
alone looked on his servant with an evil eye : for he envied his 
reputation, and would have taken to himself the glories he had 
acquired, and ascribe to himself those victories which Leopold 
had won. 

The count unable to endure the evil looks and hard words 
of the emperor, and fearful that in time his present anger 
would be turned into bitter hatred, suddenly left the court of 
Rome, and fled with his wife into the forest of the Apennines. 
There he toiled all day, and laboured diligently to support 
himself and his spouse. There he knew not what the fear of 
impending evil was ; he had no one to envy him, no one to 
covet his position or his property. 

It was a bright sunny day, and the meridian sun glared 
with unwonted fierceness even through the thick trees of the 
forest, and rendered the air close and heavy from lack of a 
breeze to move even the highest leaves of the loftiest pines. 
The emperor pursued the chase with ardour ; urged on by the 
exhilarating cry of the hounds, he thought not of the denseness 
of the forest, or the tangled nature of its winding ways, until 



THE EMPEROR CONRAD AND THE COUNT'S SON. 153 

at last, tired and thirsty, he checked his horse in a dark close 
glade, and looked around for some hut where he might obtain 
rest and refreshment. 

Many were the paths which the emperor and his attend- 
ants followed before they reached the cottage where Leopold 
lived in solitude : the count recognised his sovereign, but Con- 
rad knew not his old servant, nor was he recognised by any 
of the hunting train ; refreshments, such as the homely store 
could furnish, were soon placed before the emperor. It was 
now nigh to evening : already the glades of the forest were 
growing dark, and the devious paths more and more difficult 
to track out, even to the experienced eye of a woodman. It 
was useless to attempt to escape from the forest before the 
next morning. The attendants soon formed for themselves 
sylvan beds on the soft grass and beneath the broad -spreading 
trees, their cloaks for coverlids, and the green mossy grass for 
their beds. The emperor fared better. One low trussel bed 
Leopold had in a lower room of his hut ; this he resigned to the 
emperor. 

Fatigued with his hard day's riding, Conrad soon fell asleep : 
how long he slept he knew not ; but when all was dark and 
still, both within and without the hut, a voice broke upon his 
ear. 

"Take — take-— take," said the voice. 

Conrad rose and listened. " What," said he to himself, as 
he thought on the words, " what am I to take ? Take — take 
— take : what can the voice mean ?" 

As he reflected on the singularity of the words, the em- 
peror again fell asleep; again a voice awoke him from his 
slumbers. 

" Restore — restore — restore," said the mysterious voice. 

" What means all this mystery ?" exclaimed the emperor. 
" First I was to take, take, take, and there is nothing for me 
to take : and now I am to restore. What can I restore, when 
I have taken nothing ?" 

Again the emperor slept, and again the voice seemed to 
speak to him. 



lo4 AXCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" Fly — fly — fly," said the voice this time, " for a child is 
now born who shall become thy son-in-law." 

It was early da\vn when Conrad heard the voice the third 
time. He immediately arose, and inquired of his squires if 
they had heard a noise, and what had happened in the night. 

" Nought," replied they, " my lord, but that a son was 
born to the poor woodman whilst you slept." 

" Hah !" exclaimed Conrad, " a son ! mount — to horse — 
we will away." 

The emperor and his train had hardly found their way out 
of the wood, when Conrad called two of his knights to him. 

" Go," said he, " to the woodman's hut, take away the 
new-born child, kill it, and bring its heart to me, that I may 
know that you have performed my commands." 

With sorrowful hearts the two knights returned towards 
the woodman's cottage. The babe was nestled in its mother's 
breast, and smiled on them as they seized it. Vain was the 
resistance of its mother, for she was alone ; Leopold had gone 
into the wood, to his daily labour. 

"I cannot strike the poor babe," said one knight to the 
other, as they left the hut in the forest ; " do you play the 
butcher." 

" Not I," replied the other ; " I can strike down my adver- 
sary in fair fight, but not this poor babe." 

At this moment a hare sprang across the path so close to 
the foremost of the knights, that he raised his hunting-pole and 
struck it down. 

" Comrade," said the other knight, " I perceive how we 
majr make the emperor believe that we have obeyed his com- 
mands, and yet not take this poor babe's life ; open the hare, 
take out its heart. As for the babe, we will place it on yonder 
high branch, where the wild beasts cannot get at it, until we 
have done our message to the emperor ; then will I return and 
take this poor babe to my home, for I am childless." 

Leaving the babe, the two knights went on their message 
to the emperor; but before they could return, a good duke 
rode by the tree where the babe was, and took compassion on 



THE EMPEROR CONRAD AND THE COUNT'S SON. 155 

it, and carried the child to his own house, where it was nur- 
tured as his own son. As for the child, he grew up a man of 
fine form, the joy of his adopted parents, eloquent in speech, 
and a general favourite at the emperor's court. For a time 
Conrad was as pleased with the attainments of the young 
Henry as he had been with those of his poor father ; but time 
brought with it envy, and he soon hated the youth, as he had 
before the unfortunate count. A dreadful suspicion haunted 
Conrad's mind that he had been deceived by his knights, and 
that the youthful favourite of the people was the woodman's 
child, against whom he had been warned by the secret voice. 
The most cruel thoughts entered his mind, and he determined 
this time not to be deceived by his agents. 

" Henry," said he to the young count, " I have a letter of 
the utmost importance that I wish to be delivered to my wife ; 
to you I commit it, for you I can trust ; haste, then, prepare 
for your journey whilst I write the letter." 

Henry retired to his apartments to prepare for his ride ; he 
chose his best riding- suit, and his strongest horse, desirous in 
every way to do honour to the emperor's mission. Conrad 
went to his private room to prepare the letter. 

" As soon as this letter reaches you," he wrote, "I com- 
mand you to cause the bearer thereof to be put to death. See 
that this be done, as you value my love." 

Henry received the letter, and prepared to commence his 
journey. As it happened, his horse cast one of its shoes, and 
he was compelled to wait until another could be forged. Un- 
willing that the emperor should know of the delay, the young 
man wandered into the royal chapel, and seating himself in 
one of the royal stalls, fell asleep. 

There was a prying, crafty priest in the chapel who had 
heard the message given to the young count, and wished very 
much to discover the secret of the message. Seeing the young 
man asleep, he silently approached the youth, and extracting 
the letter from the little silken bag in which it was enclosed, 
opened its folds, and read, with astonishment, the proposed 
wickedness. 



156 



ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 



"Poor youth," murmured the priest, " thou little thinkest 
on what errand thou art riding. But, come, 1 will deceive 
this cruel emperor," continued he, as he erased the passage 
in which Henry's death was commanded, and inserted these 
words : " Give him our daughter in marriage." 

The letter altered and replaced, his horse reshod, Henry set 
out on his journey, and soon arrived at the city where the 
queen dwelt. Presenting his letter to the queen, he was 
greatly surprised when she hailed him as her son-in-law, by 
virtue of the royal commands, and bade the priests and nobles 
of her court to assist in rendering the celebration of the nup- 
tials as gorgeous as befitted the occasion. 

It was in vain that Conrad raged against the deceit thus 
practised on him ; one by one the wonderful facts of the 
young man's deliverance were revealed to him, and he could 
not but recognise in them all the hand of a protecting Provi- 
dence. Deeply penitent for his many offences against God 
and man, he confirmed the marriage of his daughter, recalled 
the old count from his forest-hut, and proclaimed the young 
Henry heir to his empire. 



" There is a great family-likeness between this tale of yours and 
the German story of the Giant with the Golden Hairs." 

" In what respect?" 

" In the manner in which the fortunate youth obtains the prin- 
cess as his wife. In that legend a king discovers the babe after a 
manner very similar to that in which Henry is found by Conrad, 
and — warned that the child is to be his son-in-law — he sends him on 
a message to his queen, with a letter of the same import as in your 
tale. Fatigued with his journey, the youth arrives at a robber's 
cottage, falls asleep, and during his rest the thieves alter the letter, 
as the priest does that borne by Henry. The effect is, of course, 
similar." 

" But what of the golden-haired giant?" asked Herbert. 

" He does not appear until the second part of the legend, and this 
is doubtless added on from some other tradition. You will find the 



THE EMPEROR CONRAD AND THE COUNTS SON. 



157 



whole story in Grimm's most amusing collection of German popular 
stories." 

"With this tale, then, we conclude our evening's amusement." 
"I am afraid it must be so, Herbert," rejoined Lathom; "I 
should not like to be left without material for to-morrow, our last 
meeting; and between this and then I am unable to prepare any- 
more tales." 




CHAPTER XII. 

LOVE AND MARRIAGE THE KNIGHT AND THE THREE QUESTIONS - 

RACING FOR A WIFE JONATHAN AND THE THREE TALISMANS - 

THE DWARF AND THE THREE SOLDIERS CONCLUSION. 




HAVE been very much surprised at the almost entire 
absence of compulsory marriages from your tales '> 
marriage, indeed, is the staple incident of the story, 
but the course of love seems to be allowed to run 
almost too smooth." 
" Why, Herbert," said Frederick Thompson, with a smile, "were 
it not rank heresy to suppose that power, and wealth, and policy in- 
fluenced marriages in those romantic days, when knights performed 
impossibilities, and ladies sang love-ditties from high towers?" 

" You must not delude yourselves that ladies were married in the 
tenth and eleventh centuries on principles very widely differing from 
those now prevailing. I could give you far worse examples than the 
w r ondrous nineteenth century furnishes." 

"What!" exclaimed Herbert, " w r orse examples than eighty 
linked to eighteen because their properties adjoined ? or a spend- 
thrift title propped up by a youthful heiress, because the one wanted 
money and the other rank ?" 

" Hilloa, Master Reginald Herbert, methinks we speak feelingly ; 
is there not something of the accepted lover and disappointed son- 
in-law in that exalted burst of indignation ? can it be true that 
' The lady she was willing, 
But the baron he said no?'" 
" Be it as it may," said Lathom, "we will solace our friend with 
an example or two of the approved ways of lady-winning in the 
tenth century. Which shall it be; the case of a successful racer, 
or a clever resolver of riddles ?" 

"Oh, I will answer for Reginald ; pray leave Miss Atalanta for 
the present, and favour us with the resolver of hard questions." 
Here begins the tale of 



159 



€!je Bmgljt antf tl;e Cfjrte aEwsttong. 

A certain emperor had a very beautiful but wilful daugh- 
ter, and he much wished to marry her, for she was his heir ; but 
to all his wishes she was deaf. At last she agreed to marry 
that person who should answer succinctly these three ques- 
tions. The first question was, " What is the length, breadth, 
and depth of the four elements ?" The second required a 
means of changing the north wind ; and the third demanded 
by what means fire might be carried in the bosom without in- 
jury to the person. 

Many and many were the nobles, knights, and princes that 
endeavoured to answer the princess's questions. It was all in 
vain : some answered one, some another, but no one resolved 
all three, and each reserved his secret from his competitor, in 
the hopes of another and more successful trial. The emperor 
began to grow angry with his daughter, but she still per- 
sisted in her intentions, and her father did not like to com- 
pel her. At length, after many years, came a soldier from a 
foreign land ; and when he heard of the questions of the prin- 
cess, he volunteered for the trial. On the appointed day, the 
soldier entered the court of the palace accompanied by one at- 
tendant, who led an extremely fiery horse by the bridle. The 
king descended to the gate of the inner court-yard, and de- 
manded the soldier's wishes. 

" I come, my lord, to win thy daughter, by rightly answer- 
ing her three questions ; I pray thee propose them to me." 

" Right willingly," rejoined the emperor. "If thou succeed- 
est, my daughter, and the succession to my throne, is thine ; 
but mark me, if thou failest, a sound whipping awaits thee as 
an impudent adventurer. Shall I propose the questions ?" 

" Even so, my lord — I am ready : a crown and a wife, or 
the w r hipping-post." 

" Tell me, then, succinctly, how many feet there are in the 
length, breadth, and depth of the elements." 

"Launcelot," said the soldier to his servant, "give the 
horse to a groom, and lie down on the ground. 3 ' 



160 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

The servant obeyed his master's orders; and the soldier 
carefully measured his length, his breadth, and the thickness 
of his body. 

" M5 T lord," said the soldier, as soon as the measuring 
was complete, " the length of the elements is scarcely seven 
feet, the breadth is nearly three, and the depth does not exceed 
one." 

" How mean you, sir ? what has this to do with the ele- 
ments ?" 

" My lord," rejoined the soldier, " man is made of the fou v 
elements : I have given you the measure of man, and there- 
fore of those parts of which he is composed." 

" You have answered well, sir soldier : now resolve this 
difficulty — how can the north wind be changed ?" 

" Launcelot, bring up Niger." 

The servant brought up the horse at his master's command, 
and the soldier placed it with its head to the north ; after a 
few minutes he administered to it a potion, and at the same 
moment turned its head to the east ; the horse that before had 
breathed fiercely now became quiet, and its breathing was soft 
and gentle. 

" See, my lord, the wind is changed." 

" How, sir soldier ?" asked the emperor, " what has this to 
do with the wind?" 

" My lord," rejoined the soldier, " who knows not that the 
life of every animal is in its breath, and that breath is air? 
When my horse looked northward, he breathed fiercely and 
snorted excessively. Lo, I gave him a potion and turned his 
head to the east ; and now the same breath comes softly and 
quietly, for the wind is changed." 

" Well done — well done, soldier! for these two answers 
thou shalt escape the whipping-post. Now resolve me this 
difficulty : How can fire be carried in the bosom without injury 
to the person ?" 

" Look and see, my lord." 

With these words, the soldier stooped towards a fire that 
burned in the court-yard, and hastily seizing some of the 



THE KNIGHT AND THE THREE QUESTIONS. 161 

burning wood, placed it in his bosom. Every one expected 
to see him injured; but after the fire had burned out, the 
soldier threw the wood from his breast, and there was neither 
scar nor burn on his flesh. 

" Well hast thou performed thy task, soldier," said the 
king. " My daughter is thine according to promise— the in- 
heritance of my kingdom is also thine and hers ; now tell me 
the secret whereby thou didst prevent the fire from burning 
thee." 

" This stone is the talisman," replied the soldier, shewing 
a small bright stone that he carried in his right hand. " Who- 
soever bears this about him shall be able to resist the hottest 
fire that men can light." 

Loaded with riches and honours, the soldier married the 
princess, and they succeeded to the throne and the wealth of 
her father. 



" Your princess, Lathom, seems to have been one of those young 
ladies who never dream that husbands and wives are born for each 
other, but regard the former as especially provided for the benefit 
of the latter." 

" I suspect the old monk, Thompson, thought very little about 
love-matters, but rather looked to the appropriateness of his story 
for a religious application." 

" Exactly so, Herbert," remarked Lathom ; "■ the moral is de- 
cidedly the best part of this tale. The emperor is our Saviour; the 
daughter, the human soul. Measuring the elements is typical of 
subduing the lusts of the flesh. The fiery horse is a sinner changed 
by repentance ; and the small bright stone, that conquers the'power 
of fire, is a true and lively faith in our Saviour, utterly subjugating 
the fire of pride, luxury, and avarice." 

" What is the tale of the marriage by racing ?" asked Thompson. 

" Hardly worth relating at length." 

" Except as a hint to our poor friend Reginald." 

"The lady is to be won by no one who cannot outrun her. 
After many T failures, comes one called Abibas, a poor but shrewd 
fellow. Knowing the failings of the young lady, he prepares a gar- 



162 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

land of roses, a beautiful silken girdle, and a golden ball, on which 
was written, 'Whosoever plays with me shall never be tired.' The 
race begins, and the lady is just passing her competitor, when he 
skilfully jerks the rose-garland on to her head. Attracted by the 
smell of the flowers, and despising the slow pace of Abibas, the 
lady stops to admire, and Abibas gets well ahead. She soon throws 
away the garland, and is off again after her competitor ; nearer and 
nearer she comes, when Abibas slily drops the embroidered girdle 
n her path. She stops — admires — takes it up, and again loses 
ground. Again she throws away the tempting bait, and renews the 
race ; the distance between her and her suitor is soon lessened, and 
the race draws towards its end. As a last resource, he casts the 
golden ball before her. She stops— reads the inscription — deter- 
mines to try it for a moment — goes on and on with her pleasure, 
and is only awakened from her folly by the cries that hail Abibas 
as the winner of the race and the lady." 

" What makes you look so solemn, Herbert ? Can you not per- 
suade the repudiating father in your case to run a race with you 
for the lady ?" 

" Tut, tut, Thompson ; I was thinking whether any of those 
persons who promote or sanction what the world calls marriages 
of convenience, in which every one admits that love or identity of 
feelings has nothing at all to do, ever read the commencement of 
the exhortation in the marriage-service. Surely it can never occur 
to them, that we are there told that marriage signifies unto us the 
mystical union between our Saviour and his Church." 

" It were charity to suppose they were ignorant," replied 
Lathom ; " but let us leave these speculations ; we are by no means 
in a proper tone of mind for them, and are more ready to laugh 
than to reason." 

" Let us, then, return to our sorcerers and witches," said 
Thompson. 

" Nay, rather let me demand your attention for a tale of some 
length, but not less interest, and which combines just sufficient 
magic in its incidents to satisfy Herbert's love of the marvellous. 
1 will read you the story of 



163 



iBonatijau antJ tyz Cljvw CaltslmanS. 

Darius was a wise and prudent king ; he had three sons, 
whom he loved much, and amongst whom he divided his pos- 
sessions. To the eldest he gave his kingdom ; to the second, 
his personal wealth ; to the third, a ring, a necklace, and a 
valuable carpet. These three gifts were charmed. The ring 
rendered any one who wore it beloved, and obtained for him 
whatsoever he desired. The necklace, if worn on the breast, 
enabled the wearer to realise every wish ; whilst the cloth had 
such virtue, that whosoever sat upon it, and thought where he 
would be carried, found himself there almost before his thought 
was expressed. These three precious gifts the king conferred 
upon Jonathan, his youngest son, to aid him in his studies ; but 
his mother retained them during the earlier years of his youth. 
After a time his mother delivered to him the ring. 

" Jonathan," she said, " take the first of thy father's be- 
quests — this ring ; guard it as a treasure. So long as you wear 
it, every one shall love you, and whatsoever ypu wish shall be 
obtained by you ; of one thing beware — an artful woman." 

Jonathan with many thanks and protestations took the 
ring. Its magic effects were soon evident. Every one sought 
his society, and every one loved him. Though he had neither 
silver nor gold, house nor fields, he had but to wish for them, 
and lo, one gave him fields, and another houses, a third gold, 
a fourth merchandise. Walking one day in the streets of 
Rome, he met a lady so beautiful to look at, that he could not 
restrain himself from following her, and eventually he had no 
happiness but in her society. She loved Jonathan, and Jona- 
than loved her. 

" Dearest," said the lady one day, as Jonathan was enjoy- 
ing her society, " how comes it that you immediately obtain 
every thing you but wish for, and yet the good king did not 
leave thee his wealth or his power?" 

" It is a secret, Subtilia ; a secret that I may not reveal, 
lest it lose its value." 



164 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" And do you profess to love me, Jonathan, and yet keep 
from me the secret of your power, your wealth, and your 
life ?" 

" Ask me not, dearest, for it may not be." 

" Farewell, then, Jonathan — thou lovest me not — never 
more will I love thee again." 

" Nay, Subtilia, but thou canst not prevent thyself loving 
me as long as I wear this ring." 

" Ah, Jonathan, the secret — the secret : you wear a magic 
ring." 

" Fool that I was !" exclaimed Jonathan, " in my haste I 
forgot my discretion; well, you know my secret — be honest, 
and keep it yourself." 

" You have not told me all the properties of the ring ; I 
must know all, if thou wouldst have it kept a secret." 

Subtilia at length elicited the secret from her lover. The 
source of his power once known to her, the next object of her 
plans was to obtain that power for herself. 

"Thou art very wrong, Jonathan," said she, looking up 
into his face wither dark black eyes, " surely thou art wrong 
to wear so precious a jewel on your finger : some day, in the 
hurry of your occupation, you will lose the ring, and then your 
power is gone." 

" There is some sense in what you say, Subtilia," replied 
Jonathan ; " yet where shall I place it in security?" 

" Let me be its guardian, dearest," said Subtilia, with a lool 
of deep affection. " No one will seek such a treasure of me 
and whensoever you wish for it, it will be ready to your hand 
among the rest of my jewels it will be perfectly secure." 

Jonathan acceded to her request, and placed the ring in her 
possession. For a time all went well ; the ring was safe and 
ready to his use, and the lady's love did not decrease. One 
day when he came to visit her as usual, he found Subtilia sit- 
ting on a couch, bathed in tears. 

" Oh, my dear, dear lord," exclaimed she, casting herself 
at his feet ; " how can I dare to approach my lord ?" 

" Why this anxiety, this sorrow, Subtilia?" said Jonathan, 



JONATHAN AND THE THREE TALISMANS. 165 

as he raised her from the ground, and strove to kiss away her 
tears. 

" Oh, my lord ! pardon me — the ring!" ejaculated Subtilia. 

" Ah ! the ring — what of the ring?" 

" It is gone, my lord — stolen." 

"Gone! how gone, woman?" rejoined Jonathan, in anger. 

" Ah, my good lord, this morning I went to my jewel-box 
to take out such ornaments as might best please my lord, and 
lo, the ring was not there ; and now where it is I know not." 

" Farewell, Subtilia — I am ruined." 

With these words Jonathan left the lady. It was all in 
vain that he searched every where for the ring : it was but of 
a common form, and he dared not to reveal its secret, as once 
known no one would dream of resigning such a treasure. In 
his distress he returned to his mother, and told her all his 
misfortunes. 

" My son," said his lady mother, " did not I warn thee of 
this very danger? by the subtlety of this woman thou hast 
lost thy charmed jewel. Receive now thy father's second be- 
quest — this necklace ; so long as you wear this on your breast, 
every wish of yours shall be fulfilled. Go in peace, and once 
more beware of female subtlety." 

Overjoyed with his new acquisition, and unable to believe 
that Subtilia had deceived him about the loss of his ring, 
Jonathan returned to the city, and to the society of that fair 
but deceitful lady. For a time his secret remained within his 
own breast ; at length, however, he yielded to the blandish- 
ments of his lady-love, and disclosed to her the source of his 
prosperity. Long and subtle were the means by which Sub- 
tilia gained the knowledge of the secret of the necklace, and 
longer and more subtle the plans by which she at last gained it 
to her own possession. This, too, was lost, as the ring ; and 
Jonathan returned a second time to his mother. 

" My son," said she, " these two times you have fallen a 
victim to female subtlety. The ring and the necklace are not 
lost ; Subtilia has them both ; and if you would succeed, you 
must regain them from her. Receive this, the third and last 



166 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

bequest of your royal father ; seated on this carpet, you have 
but to wish, to find yourself forthwith in whatever place you 
desire. Go in peace, my son ; for the third time beware of 
female subtlety." 

"I will be revenged on this faithless woman," muttered 
Jonathan, as he entered Subtilia's house, bearing the last be- 
quest of Darius. " Subtilia," he said, w T hen he entered the 
room in which she sat, " come, see the third bequest of the 
good king — this splendid carpet; here, sit down with me 
on it." 

Subtilia was hardly seated on the carpet, ere Jonathan 
wished that they were in a desert place, far, far from the abode 
of man. His wish was hardly complete before they were both 
in a drear solitude, many hundreds of miles from a human 
abode, and where wild beasts and deadly serpents abounded. 

"Subtilia!" exclaimed Jonathan, "thou art now in my 
power : restore the ring and the necklace, or die by the mouths 
of beasts, or the slow torture of famine; no human footstep 
ever treads these solitudes." 

"We perish together, Jonathan." 

" Delude not thyself so, false woman," rejoined Jonathan, 
in anger ; "I have but to wish myself away, and find my wish 
accomplished ; choose, therefore, — death, or the restoration of 
the ring and the necklace." 

" I have his secret," muttered Subtilia to herself; and then 
with a most piteous voice, " My dear lord, I pray thee, give me 
time— but an hour, or even less — before 1 decide." 

" As you wish ; until the sun touches the top of yonder 
pine-tree, consider your choice." 

Whilst the time was passing away, the heat of the day 
seduced Jonathan into a slight sleep. Subtilia saw the advan- 
tage ; slowly and softly she drew away the carpet from beneath 
him, and as, awakened by her last efforts, he would have re- 
gained the magic carpet, she wished herself again at Rome, and 
passed from his sight. He was alone in the desert, whilst she 
revelled in every luxury that could be obtained, through the 
means of the three gifts of his royal father. 



JONATHAN AND THE THREE TALISMANS. 167 

Jonathan meditated on his situation, and upbraided him- 
self for his own foolishness : whither to bend his steps from 
that dreadful wilderness he knew not ; but committing himself 
by prayer to God's especial protection, he followed a narrow 
path, and at length reached the banks of a large river. The 
river was not deep, and Jonathan essayed to pass it. Though 
the water was so hot that it burnt the flesh off his bones, he 
persevered, and at length reached the opposite bank. He 
essayed to taste of the stream, but it was sore bitter, and 
burned the roof of his mouth as he drank of it. Astonished at 
the properties of the river, Jonathan placed a small quantity of 
it in a small glass vessel, and proceeded with great pain on his 
journey. 

Hunger soon succeeded to thirst, and the solitary wanderer 
wist not how to assuage his bitter craving. As he wandered 
on, limping with pain, he suddenly cast his eyes on a fair and 
tempting tree, abounding in fruit of a rich and golden hue. 
Without one thought of thanks to God, Jonathan limped to 
the tree, and plucked eagerly of the fruit. The fair meal had 
hardly concluded, ere he was a leper from head to foot ; the 
foul disease broke out over his body. Weeping and mourning 
for his misfortunes, he gathered of the hurtful fruit, and re- 
newed his miserable wanderings. 

Another hour of painful travel brought Jonathan to the 
bank of a troubled, turbid stream, whose depth appeared un- 
fathomable, and whose waters were repugnant even to the 
thirsty man. Careless of his life, with one prayer to God, the 
wanderer stept into the river, unconscious of its depth. It was 
shallow, and offered little resistance to his passage, though its 
stream seemed to roll onward with headlong violence. His 
burnt flesh, too, came again in all its original purity. Jona- 
than reached the bank, and on his bended knees gave thanks 
to God for his great kindness in relieving him from his pains. 
Of this stream, also, he took a small vase full, as a treasured 
medicine. 

Still the wanderer continued his journey, hungry and a 
leper. No tree on either side of him gave any promise of 



168 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

sustenance, and he despaired of sustaining his fast-fleeting 
strength. Anon he came to a low, crooked, cankerous-looking 
bush, with two or three withered and apparently rotten apples 
on one of its branches ; desperate with hunger, he seized one 
of the wretched fruits, and ate it. His hunger was assuaged ; 
his leprosy was departed from him. Strength, health, and a 
free spirit seemed renewed in him ; and plucking another of 
the withered fruits, he went on his way rejoicing. 

By the virtue of that food he wandered on without feeling 
hunger ; by the virtue of that water his flesh suffered not from 
his journey, and he knew not what fatigue was. After many 
days, he neared the gates of a walled city, and made as though 
he would have entered. 

" Ho ! sir traveller," said the gatekeeper, " whence comest 
thou — what art thou — and whither goest thou ?" 

" From Rome, good porter — a physician." 

" Stay," interrupted the porter ; " a physician — you are in 
good fortune; canst cure a leprosy ?" 

" I can but try my skill." 

" If you succeed with this case, your fortune is made, 
friend ; our king is ill of a leprosy. Whosoever will cure 
him will receive great rewards, but death if he fails." 

" I will undertake the cure," replied Jonathan ; '• lead me 
to the king." 

Jonathan entered the palace, and was led to the chamber 
of the king, where he lay on his couch, wasted with disease, 
and covered from head to foot with a leprosy of the most viru- 
lent kind. 

" A physician, my lord the king," said the attendant, 
" who would try to cure your disease." 

Cf What, another victim ?" rejoined the royal leper ; " does 
he know the alternative ?" 

" My lord," said Jonathan, " I am aware of the terms, and 
accept them freely ; by God's help I will cure my lord, or 
perish in the attempt. I pray my lord the king to eat of this 
fruit." 

" What, this withered, rotten apple ?" exclaimed the king. 



JONATHAN AND THE THREE TALISMANS. 169 

" Even this, my lord." 

The king took the fruit of the second tree and ate it, as 
Jonathan advised. In a moment his leprosy began to disap- 
pear, and the pimples to sink and become hardly visible. 

" Thou art indeed a physician !" exclaimed the king ; " the 
promised reward is thine." 

" Stay, my lord," said Jonathan ; " we must restore the 
flesh to its original state." 

With these words, he touched every mark on the king' 
body with the water of the second river, and the flesh returned 
fair and white as before the leprosy. 

" Blessed physician, thy reward is doubled ; stay, I pray 
thee, in our country." 

" Nay, my lord, I may not. I must seek my own land, 
and all I ask is, that my lord will divide the half of my reward 
amongst the poor of this city." 

Soon after this, Jonathan sailed from this city for Rome : 
arrived there, he circulated a report that a great physician 
had arrived. Now it happened that Subtilia, in despite of all 
the talismans, lay grievously sick, and nigh unto death. The 
report of the arrival of the great physician comforted her, and 
she sent for Jonathan. He knew her again, but she knew 
him not, for he was greatly altered and disguised. 

" Great master," said she in a faint voice, " I die." 

" Death, lady, comes ever to those who confess not their 
sins against God and man, and defraud their friends ; if thou 
hast done this, my help is vain, without confession and resto- 
ration." 

Then did Subtilia confess all her treachery against Jona- 
than, and how she had deprived him by her subtlety of the 
three talismans, and left him to die in a desert place. 

"Woman," said Jonathan, " thy ill-used lover yet lives, 
and is prosperous ; the talismans must be restored to him — 
where be they ?" 

1 ' In yonder chest : here, take the keys, restore them to 
Jonathan, and give me of your medicine." 

" Take this fruit — drink of this water." 
Q 



170 ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 

" Mercy, mercy !" exclaimed Subtilia, "lama leper — the 
flesh is burning away from my bones — I die — I die." 

" Subtilia, thou hast met with thy reward; thou diest, and 
Jonathan is thy physician." 

With one fearful look at Jonathan, and one agonised 
scream, the wretched woman fell back a corpse ; her diseased 
flesh already mouldering to destruction. 

Jonathan regained his father's bequests, and returned to his 
mother ; the whole kingdom rejoiced at his return. Until his 
life's end, he remembered the lessons he had learned in his 
prosperity and his poverty, and he lived and died in peace 
with God and with man. 



w Your tale, of course, boasts of a moral?" 

" Yes ; a moral far from unreasonable. The emperor Darius is 
typical of our Saviour, as is generally the case in these tales : and 
the queen-mother is the Church. The two sons are the men of 
this world ; the third son typifies the good Christian. The lady, 
his great temptation and source of all his evils, is the flesh. • She 
first obtains from him the ring of faith, and after that deprives 
him by her devices of the necklace of hope ; and in despite of these 
two warnings, steals from him at last the cloth of charity. The 
bitter water, that burned away the flesh from the bones, is repent- 
ance, and the first fruit is heartfelt remorse : the second river is 
repentance before God, and the unpromising fruit represents the 
deeds of faith, prayer, self-denial, and charity." 

" You have left the leprous king and the ship still unex- 
plained." 

" The former is but a type of a sinful man, the other is intended 
to represent the Divine command ; but the application seems forced 
and inappropriate/' 

"You have another link between the East and West in this 
tale," remarked Herbert. "The talisman of the magic cloth may 
be found in the Arabian Nights, in the story of Prince Ahmed and 
the Fairy Pari Banou." 

" All the three talismans proclaim the eastern origin of the 
story," rejoined Lathom ; "and besides this, its entire structure re- 



CONCLUDING REMARKS. 171 

sembles the tale of Fortunatus, to which few have hesitated to assign 
an eastern origin." 

" Many of the incidents of your story are to be found in the old 
German nursery-tale of the Dwarf and the Three Soldiers." 

" Not unlikely ; but the tale in question is so little known to 
me, that I cannot trace the likeness." 

"The tale, in a few words, is this," replied Thompson. "Three 
poor soldiers obtain from a dwarf three gifts ; a cloak, a purse, and 
a horse ; one and all equally useful in promoting their worldly ad- 
vantage. A crafty princess steals all these gifts, and the soldiers 
are once more poor. Driven by hunger, one of the three eats of an 
apple-tree by the road-side, and forthwith his nose grows, not by 
inches, but by miles. The friendly dwarf, in pity of his misery, 
cures him by administering another kind of apple ; and the nose 
shrinks as quickly as it had grown. Now comes the revenge on 
the princess. The old soldier offers some of the fatal apples for 
sale ; the princess buys and eats ; her nose grows without ceasing. 
Under pretence of curing her, the old soldier, disguised as a doc- 
tor, makes her nose grow more and more ; and at length, having 
terrified her into restoring the dwarf's gifts, kindly gives her a 
piece of the second kind of apples, and cures her of the nasal pro- 
tuberance." 

"And now that we have concluded our criticisms," said Her- 
bert, " let us give all due praise to the admirable instruction con- 
tained in this last narrative." 

" May we not extend our praise to all the tales ?" 

" As critics, well-intentioned towards the writers, and especially 
towards this translation, we must not set much store on our criti- 
cism. We need not, however, fear to give our own opinions, and 
therefore I agree with you that great praise may with reason be 
given to all the tales we have heard, and to no one more than that 
with which our last evening, I fear, must now conclude. One thing 
I would ask you, Lathom ; you spoke of the want of the usual ac- 
cessories to fiction in these old monks' stories. One or two slips 
have not escaped me ; but, unless you have re-produced many of 
the tales, the credit of great experience in writing fictions must be 
allowed to the authors of the Gesta." 

" I do not mean to deny that I have re-written many of these 
tales, and in some places introduced a little embroidery, but no 



172 



ANCIENT MORAL TALES. 



where have I done more than re-set the old jewels, and put old 
pictures into new frames." 

"This, then, is our last evening with the old story-tellers," said 
Thompson ; " to-morrow, Herbert and I are off for a week of 
home, whilst you are left here to " 

"To reset some more old jewels, should these, through your 
report, obtain favour and acceptance with my friends." 




i.oxdon: 

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Lays and Ballads from English, Scottish, &c, History, by S. M., (Mm 
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pure morality," 12mo. 2s. e<d. 



w 



AMUSING AND INSTRUCTIVE BOOKS 

LUMLEY: 136, HIGH HOLBORN. 




Legends, Traditions, Stories, Prose and Verse, told immemorially in 
Nurseries and Firesides of People of England, France, Germany, 
Scotland, Ireland, Tales of Chivalry, &c, also Notes, blue cloth, covered 
with silver ornaments, 21 fine ivoodcuts, 3s. 
Lieslie, a beautiful Swiss Tale; has been translated into almost every 
European language; also HEINBICH and JBLANCA, or the Three 
Brothers, engravings, 6d. 
i"J Lives of Eminent English Laymen, Lord Falkland, Isaak Walton, 
Bobert Nelson (England's worthies), names deservedly dear to every 
English heart, fragrant indeed with the odour of sanctity; with Notices 
of their times, the most delicate and debatable periods of our history — 
the Eebellion and Eevolution, by Eev. W. H. Teale, executed so ad- 
mirably, such a combination of diligent research, clear discrimination, 
and sound principle, that we warmly recommend it. — Christian Remem- 
brancer, June, 1842. 12mo. cloth, most beautifully illustrated with fine 
portraits and elegant wood engravings, 2s. 
Louis ; or, Little Emigrant, and other Stories : King and Woodman, 

May Day, Lost Child, square, cloth, elegant, gilt leaves, cuts, 2s. 
Lucy and Arthur, a Domestic Tale, cloth, gilt leaves, 2s. 
Manzoni, Promessi Sposi, or Betrothed Lovers ; only complete transla- 
tion of this " most bewitching work ; superior to Sir W. Scott, rivalling 
Defoe's force and pathos," 2 vols, fancy covers, 60 beautiful vignettes, 7 s. 
Martyr of Carthage, (The) a tale exemplifying Life and Times of St. 
CYPETAN, by Eev. E. Wilson, cloth, 2s. 1645 

Massinger's Virgin Martyr, "a noble play, pure and cliastened produc- 
tion," Miniature 4to. cloth elegant, beautifully ornamented book, with 
borders, also Plates by Pickersgill, 3s. 
Musaeus' Popular Tales, translated, "most pleasing, charming, entertain- 
ing, instructive, so original, so ingenious," cloth, fine engravings, 2s. 
Natural History, Popular, of BEASTS and BIRDS, with Anecdotes, by 
DOWLING, "an attractive volume, interestingly and popularly written" 
cloth elegant, fine Illustrations, 3s. 
Northern Minstrelsy, 100 Choicest Poems and Songs of SCOTLAND, 
Ancient and Modern, including Jacobite Songs; also COPIOUS 
GLOSSARY, exquisitely printed, and Illustrated with original designs, 
by Franklin, Weigall, M'lan, Scott, Gilbert, &c, 2s, 
Nursery Rhymes, Tales, Jingles, Excellent Selection of ENGLISH 
NUESEEY EHYMES, nearly 200 ; carefully excluding all objection- 
able, exquisitely printed, Small Quarto, red cloth, handsomely gilt, 76 
truly beautiful wood cuts, of highest order of excellence, by Cope, Horse- 
ley, Dyce, &c, 6s. 
Peter Schleminl ; or, Shadowless Man, translated from German of 
Chamisso, " most enclianting romance," best edition, with Appendix, 6 
engravings, Gd. 
PichWs (Caroline) Tales : QUENTIN MATSYS ; or, the Painter of 
Antwerp and Wallenstein, SWEDES IN PEAGUE ; or, the Signal 
Eocket, "graphic, stirring, captivating writer, redolent of sterling no- 
bility of nature," 2 works in 1, 2s. 
Plutarch's Lives of Greeks, condensed, with Additions from Thirlwall, 
Muller, Mitford, Keightley, Eobinson, &c. ; also Introduction with 
Chronology, Geography, &c. of Greece, Is. 6d. 
Ditto, of Romans, Additions from Niebuhr, Gibbon, Fergusson, Adam, 
| etc., Is. M. 

| Poems and Pictures, the most beautiful Book of Modern Times, 4to., 
f cloth handsome, each page with elegant border, and 100 Illustrations by 

\ first English Artists, Horscly, Dyce, Cope, Selous, Franklin, Pickersgill, 

&c, 18s. (pub. at £2 2s.) 





AMUSING AND INSTRUCTIVE BOOKS. 

LUMLEY: 126, HIGH HOLBORN. 

Eed and White Eoses, and other Tales. Contents: GOTT- 
FRIED; or, the Island Hermitage ; ISAAC PINCHPENNY ; or, the 
Unmasked Hypocrite; HENEY of EICHENFELS ; HEINEICH and 
BLANCA, cloth, gilt leaves, fine engravings, 2s. 

Robinson Crusoe, Life and Surprising Adventures of, " not 
only most charming, but most instructive of books," carefully edited by 
Eussell, fine type, paper choice, artistic plates, by Kcene, 3s. 

Eutilius, or Stories of the Third Age, (a.d. 297 to a.d. 298) 
a very masterly arid accurate sketch of the early Church, interestingly 
exhibiting the real secret of her persuasive power, not argument, not 
miracles, not early bribes, but consistent development of her Principles, 
her Christian Life, her Example, by ABCHDEACON WILBEE- 
FOECE, cloth, 2s. 

Sacred Verses, by Isaac Williams, with Pictures, illustrating 
Our Lord's Life, Small Quarto, cloth, richly gilt, 37 beautiful Prints by 
Albert Durcr, Overbeck, Steinle, Thompson, £c, 6s. 

Schiller's JOAN OF ARC, or the Maid of Orleans, translated, 
"among the most beautiful of his conceptions, abounds v:ith passages 
of highest standard of excellence," frontispiece, Is. 

Ditto, WILLIAM TELL, translated, "most excellent, ad- 
mirably pourtrayed, best thing he ever icrote, descriptions of Alps exqui- 
site."— Carlylc. Frontispiece by TENNIEL, Is. 

Schmid's Historic Tales: Lucius and his Children, Christmas 

Eve, Brothers Eustace and Family, translated, " very attractive and 

beautiful, fascinating simjdieity," cloth, gilt, plates and cuts, 2s. 

Selected Letters, from Men whose Lives and Conversations 
form profitable subjects of contemplation; such as Taylor, Hooker, 
Nelson, Ken, Walton, Jones of Nayland, Nicholas Farrar/Collingwood, 
&c, edited by Eev. T. Chamberlain, cloth, neat cuts, 2s. 

Shakespeare's Select Plays, most carefully edited for the 

Young, with Notes, Life, Glossary, beautifully printed, fine paper, cloth, 
handsome frontispiece, by Cope, " supplies a great desideratum for 
parents and schools," 3s. Qd. 

Short Stories and Poems, Original and Select, Excellent 

Work, " most interesting Binding and Holiday Book for Young, and one 
of the cheapest ever published," beautifully printed, with borders and 
illustrations in modern German style, very fine paper, cloth elegant, gilt 
leaves, 40 woodcuts by first Artiste, 3s. 

Stories and Sketches for Leisure Hours ; also PRASCA 
LOUPOULOFF, a beautiful Eussian Tale, origin of Exile of Siberia, 
translated; also other tales: contains 40 Stories, 2 vols, in I, fine en- 
gravings, 2s. 

Tales and Adventures by Sea and Land, 20 most amusing 

Narratives, " developing truest herois)n in Men of all Ages," cloth, luind- 
some, 38. 

Tieck, Small Tales and Romances from the German, with 
Entroduotion, and exquisite Preface by Froude, cloth extra, 6 en- 
White Lady, from the German of Yon Wolfmann, " con- 
sidered equal to Undine;" also ijakonkss mottk ronjnrs 
FOtJB TALIS: Physician of Marseilles, Christmas Tree, Eevolu- 
tionists, Valerie, 2 works in 1, Is. 



45= 




from ^EI tfje 

<®t&t% ftomatumtm, 

tic. 




AMUSING AND INSTRUCTIVE BOOKS. 

LUMLEY: 126, HIGH HOLBORN. 

Legends, Traditions, Stories, Prose and Verse, told immemorially in 
Nurseries and Firesides of People of England, France, Germany, 
Scotland, Ireland, Tales of Chivalry, <fcc, also Notes, blue cloth, covered 
with silver ornament*, 21 fine woodcuts, 3s. 

Lieslie, a beautiful Swiss Tale: has been translated into almost every 
European language; also HEINRICH and BLANCA, or the Three 
Brothers, engravings. (;d. 

Lives of Eminent English Laymen, Lord Falkland, Isaak Walton, 
Robert Nelson {England's worthies), names deservedly dear to every 
English heart, fragrant indeed with the odour of sanctity; with Notices 
of their times, the most delicate and debatable periods of our history — 
the Rebellion and Revolution, by Rev. W. H. Teale, executed so ad- 
mirably, such a combination of diligent research, clear discrimination, 
and sound principle, that we warmly recommend it. — Christian Jlemem- 
braneer, June, 1842. 12mo. cloth, most beautifully illustrated with fine 
portraits and elegant ivood engravings, 2s. 

Louis; or, Little Emigrant, and other Stories: King and Woodman, 
May Pay, Lost Child, square, cloth, elegant, gilt leaves, cuts, 2s. 

Lucy "and 'Arthur, a Domestic Tale, cloth, gilt leaves, 2s. 

Manzoni, Promessi Sposi, or Betrothed Lovers ; only complete transla- 
tion of this " most bewitching work; superior to Sir W. Scott, rivalling 
Defoe's force and pathos" 2 vols, fancy covers, CO beautiful vignettes, Is, 

Martyr of Carthage, (The) a tale exemplifying Life and Times of St. 
CYPRIAN, by Rev. E. Wilson, cloth, 2s. liUo 

Massinger's Virgin Martyr, "a noble play, pure and chastened produc- 
tion," Miniature 4to. cloth elegant, beautifully ornamented book, with 
borders, also Plates hy Pickevsgill, 3s. 

Musaeus' Popular Tales, translated, "most pleasing, charming, entertain- 
ing, instructive, so original, so ingenious," cloth, fine engravings, 2s. 
j Natural History, Popular, of BEASTS and BIRDS, with Anecdotes, by 
BOWLING- , "an attractive volume, interestingly and popularly written," 
cloth elegant, fine Illustrations, 3s. 

Northern Minstrelsy, 100 Choicest Poems and Songs of SCOTLAND, 
Ancient and Modern, including Jacobite Songs; also COPIOUS 
GLOSSARY, rxquisitebi printed.' and Illustrated with original designs, 
In/ Franklin, Wei, /all, M'lan, Scott, Gilbert, &C, 2s. 

Nursery Rhymes, Tales, Jingles, Excellent Selection of ENGLISH 
NURSERY RITYMKS, nearly 200; carefully excluding all objection- 
able, exquisitely printed, Small Quarto, red cloth, handsomely gilt, 76 
i trulv beautiful wood cuts, of highest order of excellence, by Cope, Horse- 

ley, Dyce, &c., Gs. 

Peter Schlemihl ; or, Shadowless Man, translated from German of 
Chamisso, "most enchanting romance," best edition, with Appendix, 6 
enoro rings, Ctd. 

Pichler's (Caroline) Tales: QTJENTIN MATSYS; or, the Painter of 
Antwerp ami Wallenstein, SWFDKS IN l'KAGFF; or, the Signal 
Rocket, "gvaphic, stirring, captivating writer, redolent of sterling no- 
hililii of nature," 2 works in 1, 2s. 

Plutarch's Lives of Greeks, condensed, with Additions from ThirlwftU, 
Muller, Mitford, Keightley, Robinson, (fee; also Introduction with 
Chronology, Geography, Ac. of Greece, Is. »;</. 

Ditto, of Romans, Additions from Niebuhr, Gibbon, Fergusson, Adam, 
etc., U.Gd. 

Poems and Pictures, the most beautiful Book of Modem Times, lt->., 
ehdhhttwUome, each pane with elegant border, and 100 Illustrations by 
first English Artists. I Forsely, Dyce, Cope, Scions. Franklin, Pickevsgill, 
&c, 18s. (pub. at .£2 2s.) 

■*" "' -- " —- - "TET n -^ ■ - , -*•<#£? 

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